


Blood and Shadows

by HermitLibrary_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternative Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/bondage, Sadism, Season/Series 04, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitLibrary_Archivist/pseuds/HermitLibrary_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Salome</p><p>Servalan captures Avon and Tarrant in an Alternative Universe version of 'Warlord'.  This story involves rape and torture and is not for the faint-hearted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2015. We posted announcements about the move and emailed authors as we imported, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hermitlibrary/profile). 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).
> 
> **Original Author's Notes:**
> 
> Previously published in 'Dark Fantasies 2'. 
> 
> Also archived at The Avon/Tarrant Page.

"Where's Tarrant?" said Dayna.

"Where's Avon?" said Soolin. "And where have you been? What's going on, Vila?"

"=She= has them, what do you think?" Vila's voice over the comm link sounded both angry and frightened. "That bastard Zukan sold us, that's what. Grabbed them and came after me, too. Orac's had =Scorpio= on an evasion course for days now, but he says he's shaken them and it's safe to come back. I'll be on Xenon in-- how long, Slave?-- four hours. Orac says we shouldn't talk too much, in case they pick something up."

"All right, Vila," said Soolin. "Come on in. We'll see you in four hours, and we'll decide what to do then."

"On my way," said Vila. "I knew this warlord alliance thing was a bad idea. I'll have Orac relay the Betafarl newscast. You can see it for yourself."

His voice vanished in a crackle of static, which gave way in turn to the deliberate enunciation of a newscaster. The vis-screen in the console of Xenon's control room lit up, and Soolin and Dayna leaned forward at the sight of two familiar male faces, both looking rather scruffy and sullen. Tarrant was sporting a nasty bruise on one temple, and Avon appeared to have a split lip.

"Betafarl Internal Security forces have reported the capture of the two notorious desperadoes, Kerr Avon and Del Tarrant. Reputed to be the leaders of the infamous =Scorpio= gang, the pair are wanted by the Terran Federation in connection with numerous acts of piracy and terrorism, including the recent Zerok gold robbery. Their extradition to the Federation will be the first official act of interstellar cooperation between our governments since the conclusion of the Mutual Non-Aggression Pact so brilliantly negotiated by our diplomatic team under the inspiration of our glorious leader Zukan, may he rule for ten thousand years."

Dayna snorted in disgust. The camera panned back from the grim visage of Zukan to take in an elegant female form beside him. "Federation Commissioner Sleer arrived on Betafarl this morning to take custody of the prisoners." Servalan smiled ingratiatingly at Zukan as the screen went dark.

Soolin cut off the link with a quick, hard gesture, the only outward sign of emotion she had shown.

"He ran!" said Dayna indignantly. "Vila ran! He didn't even try to save them!"

"If he hadn't run, he would probably have been captured himself, and we'd be stranded," Soolin pointed out reasonably. "At least this way we have =Scorpio= and Orac. But you realize what we'll have to do."

"We have to rescue them ourselves," said Dayna. "But how?"

"Well, yes," said Soolin, "but I meant before that. As soon as Vila gets here, in fact."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll have to abandon Xenon base, as quickly as possible. She must know about it by now."

"But Zukan didn't know. We agreed that he wasn't to be given the coordinates unless and until there was a good chance that he'd join us."

"No, but Avon and Tarrant know, and how long has she had them? They left for Betafarl over a week ago. You know as well as I do--" (<<better,>> thought Soolin, but she wasn't cruel enough to say it) "--how easy it is for those scum to wring information out of people. For all we know, they may not even still be alive."

"She wouldn't just kill them, would she?" Dayna looked anxious now, as well as angry.

"She's certainly tried often enough. But it's true, there'd be a lot of technical information she'd want from Avon, and probably from Tarrant too. It'll take time to dig it out of them. But something as simple as the location of Xenon base will be one of the first bits they get at. And even if she doesn't care about us, she still wants Orac."

"Avon held out for five days, back on Earth," said Dayna.

"So you've told me. But they didn't know who he was, you said. In fact, it was only after five days that they got serious enough to bring in a real professional. This time they'll be using their very best, from the start."

Dayna stared at Soolin in horror. "But don't you think she might have a soft spot for Tarrant, after Virn? Maybe even for Avon? You saw how they were grinning at each other when we went down to do the gold exchange."

"I think we can't take chances," said Soolin. "We should get out of here as fast as possible, and we shouldn't leave anything behind for her. What we can't take with us, we'll destroy. Dayna, start setting the charges. I'll get our supplies together so we can leave right away when Vila gets here. We don't dare waste any time."

"You're starting to sound like Avon," said Dayna, but she turned toward the door. On her way out she paused. "I wonder what she's doing with them?"

"Don't think about it," advised Soolin. "There's no time now for anything but work. We'll worry about them again once we're on =Scorpio=."

* * *

"You've been brought here from Earth at considerable expense," said Commissioner Sleer to the psychostrategist. "I trust that you appreciate the vital importance of the information held by these two-- subjects. This base has state-of-the-art equipment and a highly trained interrogation team; but under the circumstances I thought it would be wise to bring in a recognized expert to supervise the project. Unfortunately, given the urgent and essential nature of their information, it was necessary to begin without you. I have not been altogether happy with the results so far. Tell me, are my interrogators fully competent?"

"Commissioner, in my judgement they are doing as well as can be expected. There are unusual difficulties both with the subjects and with the nature of the information to be obtained from them. In fact, it is impressive that so much has been learned in barely a week. Both are stubborn by nature, but the younger man responds well to psychoactive drugs. With skillful psychological manipulation-- and your team are really very good, Madam-- he can be convinced that he is among friends and may safely talk. As you know, the location of the rebel base has been obtained from him, as well as a substantial amount of technical data that is now being studied by the scientists of the teleport project, the photonic drive development group, and the tarriel cell research unit.

"The older of the two subjects presents more complicated problems, as he has an unfortunate biochemical immunity to the most effective of our drugs. It is extremely difficult to induce a cooperative mood in him."

<<I know that, you fool, thought Servalan. Why else did I go to the trouble of concocting that elaborate charade on Terminal. It would have been so much easier and more pleasant if I could simply have conditioned him to fall in love with me and offer me the =Liberator= as a love gift.>> But none of these thoughts showed on the exquisite face of Commissioner Sleer.

"Really?" she said, giving disinterested consideration to a purely intellectual problem. "What else can be done?"

"Other drugs were tried. He can be confused and made to babble, but coherent, organized conversation has not yet been achieved. When I arrived, I authorized the use of physical pain as well. Your team had wisely avoided that option earlier. It is my professional opinion, Commissioner, that the effectiveness of torture as an interrogation tool is greatly overestimated. Drugs and electronic manipulation of the brain are generally far more efficient. But in this case, extreme measures were needed. We used the standard neural induction machines. However, he has proven to have an unusually high pain threshold. A setting high enough to make him talk also makes him incoherent. We get the same sort of babbling as with the drugs."

"Surely some useful information can be extracted even from this babbling, as you call it," said the Commissioner.

"Fragments only. You understand, Madam, that scientific information is fundamentally different in quality from the personal and political information that is the usual goal of this type of interrogation. Precise details are needed, and they must be logically organized in the proper context."

"Perhaps it would help to have scientists from the various research groups on hand to direct the questioning."

"It has been tried, Commissioner. Unfortunately, these engineering specialists cannot seem to master the attitude of scientific detachment that we in the psychological sciences have cultivated. The teleport designer who was brought into the interrogation room fainted. The tarriel cell expert who was asked to listen to tapes claimed that she was too distracted by the screaming to make sense of the words."

"For that she'll be screaming herself," said the Commissioner grimly. "Keep trying; find some who aren't so squeamish. But you said they were studying Tarrant's information. No problems there?"

"No, Madam. But what they hear on those tapes sounds like nothing more alarming than a slightly intoxicated young man having a drunken conversation with his friends. No screaming."

"Can we do without Avon's knowledge? How much have we actually gotten from Tarrant?"

"A great deal, Madam, but his knowledge is of a more concrete, practical nature. He has done repair work on both the teleport system and the photonic drive, but always under the supervision of the other man, who appears to be the only one other than the deceased inventors who understands the theoretical background of these innovations."

"And you have only fragments of this theoretical background?"

"That is correct. It would help enormously, Madam, if the actual machinery were available for study. The prisoners' statements would be far easier to understand if we could see the objects that they were talking about."

"Ah." The Commissioner steepled her hands. "There I believe I can help you. Pursuit ships have been dispatched to the rebel base to capture the =Scorpio=, with its stardrive and teleport, and the computer Orac. They are expected back in approximately six days. We may also find useful information on Caspar, where the unfortunate Dr. Plaxton was doing the research that led to the stardrive stolen by the =Scorpio= gang when they kidnapped and murdered her.

"But while we wait, I have something else in mind. You say that Tarrant is easily persuaded."

"Not easily, Madam; it requires great skill, but yes, it can be done."

"And in the case of Avon-- so far you have used the neural induction machines, which cause no lasting physical damage, is that correct?"

"Yes, Commissioner."

"Tell me: would a relatively small amount of actual physical damage have any adverse effect on the likelihood of extracting more information from him in the future?"

"Little or none, I should say. It would do no harm, and it might be marginally helpful. In fact, it is what I would recommend as the next step. Subjects who can tolerate a great deal of pure pain are sometimes surprisingly distressed when they see the marks of torture on their bodies."

"Very good. Very good indeed. I have a plan that will call for your utmost professional skill. It will be your most challenging assignment. But in return for giving you this opportunity, I must require the highest possible degree of confidentiality. You understand my meaning, do you not?"

"We psychostrategists are always discreet, Commissioner."

* * *

Tarrant was awakened by the brush of lips against his.

"Wake up, darling, and come with me. I have something to show you."

It was Servalan, dressed in the black gown she had worn on Virn. Tarrant realized that he himself was wearing nothing at all; but he did not feel any alarm or concern at his condition, even when Servalan took him by the hand and led him out of the small room where he had been lying and into a stone hallway. And that in itself was odd. From a small, isolated corner, one part of Tarrant's mind noted that he could not possibly be in a normal state if he was walking with perfect unconcern down what looked like a corridor in an ancient Earthly castle, stark naked and hand-in-hand with Servalan. <<Drunk, drugged, conditioned, or dreaming,>> he thought. But he kept walking, staring in fascination at the flickering torches that lined the corridor. Shocking waste of oxygen.

They came into another room, much larger than the first, and stopped inside the doorway. In the center of the room were two pillars, and splayed between them was the limp body of a naked man, bound at the wrists and ankles to rings set into the pillars. The prisoner's head hung down so that his face could hardly be seen, but there was something oddly familiar about the sturdy, well-proportioned body. The outflung arms and legs reminded Tarrant of a half-forgotten image he had once seen, somewhere, on a viewscreen: a human figure inscribed within a circle. Yet it was more than the dim memory of an ancient drawing that made that body seem familiar.

"Yes, dear," said Servalan, "it's Avon. Avon as you have never seen him before. Lovely, isn't he? And he is at your disposal."

Despite their long association, Tarrant had never seen Avon undressed. Without the heavy black garments, Avon's pale body seemed much smaller and terribly vulnerable. There was something incongruous and almost frightening about the sight of that sharp- tongued, self-sufficient man rendered so completely helpless, utterly unable to protect himself from any indignity that might be inflicted upon him. For a split second, Tarrant wondered uneasily whether Avon would ever forgive him for having seen him in such circumstances. But his present euphoric state of mind made it easy for Tarrant to dismiss all misgivings as soon as they arose.

"We've tied him in this position for two reasons," Servalan continued. "First, because it is flattering to him."

She was right. The spread-eagled pose showed off the muscle in Avon's arms and legs and minimized the slight softness of his waist. Tarrant had never really thought about the attractiveness of Avon's body before, but he was certainly thinking about it now.

"And second," said Servalan, smiling at Tarrant, "so that he will be completely open to you. Every part of his body is easily accessible, for any purpose that you wish." She smiled again. "Yes, that means exactly what you think."

Servalan strolled across the room and stood before her captive. In her usual high heels, she was almost as tall as the barefoot, spread-legged Avon. She reached out with one red-taloned hand, grasped him firmly by the jaw, and raised his face. He opened his eyes, blinked, and stared at her blankly. He seemed to have trouble focussing.

"Avon is very stubborn, you know. I'm afraid that in order to induce a properly-- receptive-- mood, we had to hurt him rather badly. He's in a great deal of pain now. But see how beautiful it makes him. His face goes all soft and pretty."

She released her grip on Avon's jaw and ran one finger across his lips. Avon twitched his head away from her touch. The corner of his mouth curled in what might have been either a very feeble sneer or a grimace of pain. Then, as if even that tiny movement had been too much effort, his eyes closed and his head dropped back to his chest.

"Sweet," said Servalan, patting him on the cheek. "He knows that we're here, but he is hurting too badly just now to care much what happens. Come, I'll show you." She led Tarrant around the pillars so that they had an unimpeded view of Avon's back.

The reason for Avon's stupefied condition was now apparent: he had been most brutally flogged. The white skin of his back was striped with bleeding welts from neck to waist, with additional random strokes across the shapely buttocks and muscular thighs.

"I'm told that on ancient Earth, this was a punishment used on sailing ships for insubordinate crew members. Most appropriate, don't you think?" Servalan smiled up at Tarrant as if expecting to be praised for her cleverness. "My experts tell me that most men pass out with half the number of strokes that Avon took before he stopped fighting us. But now-- now he is at his very best. Soft-- pliant-- submissive-- available. And you, Tarrant-- you will be the first to possess him." At her last words, Avon made a sudden, startled movement, raising his head as if to listen more closely.

Servalan and Tarrant circled back around the pillars to stand again in front of Avon. He was staring at them in groggy confusion. "Tarrant?" he whispered. Tarrant might have answered him, but Servalan spoke first.

"Touch him, dear," she said. She raised Tarrant's right hand, which she had been holding in her own, and placed it against Avon's chest.

Tarrant needed little urging. He was fascinated by the strange and yet familiar body before him. With both hands he explored the paradox of soft skin over hard muscle. He ran his fingers through the curling hairs on Avon's chest, while with his other hand he reached up to stroke Avon's face, gazing into the dark eyes. Why had he never noticed before how beautiful, how magnetically compelling those eyes were?

Avon was struggling to speak now, gasping for breath with each word. "Tarrant. =No=. Don't. Let. Her. Use. You."

Tarrant smiled indulgently and cut off the words with a quick kiss. "You don't understand yet, do you, Avon? It's you who's going to be used," he said.

The look of shock on Avon's face was priceless. He bared his teeth at Tarrant and tried frantically to pull away from the offending hands, but the cords with which he was bound held him securely. Tarrant continued his leisurely exploration of the body offered up for his pleasure, stroking gently until Avon was quiet again. Then he was touching Avon's sex. Avon started and gasped, staring down apprehensively, but he did not try to speak.

Handling the genitals of another adult man was strange. Tarrant had not tried anything of the kind in years; not since his adolescence, in fact. He hadn't really known what he was doing at the time, although he and his school friends had enjoyed their games well enough. He still wasn't sure what to do, but he tried to think what he himself would enjoy and proceed accordingly. Given Avon's condition, he doubted that he was at all likely to get any results; but there was no doubt that he himself was being affected. Tarrant's excited condition was noticed by Servalan, who began fondling him as he fondled Avon.

"It would be lovely if you could make him come, dear, but it isn't really necessary. Try fucking him with your fingers; I'm sure he needs to be loosened up a bit. Here, I'll help you." With a last caress, she abandoned Tarrant briefly. She reappeared standing behind Avon, reaching down to clasp Tarrant's hand between Avon's spread legs. In her hand was a cool, slick, viscous substance that she spread liberally over Tarrant's fingers, grasping his hand and using him in turn to spread the lubricant around Avon's anus.

"You know, Tarrant, I don't think that Avon has ever been used in this way before. Blake had his soul, but never his body. You will be the first to take him." She moved Tarrant's hand up and down the crease of Avon's buttocks. He had to bend slightly to reach so far. He wrapped his other arm around Avon's waist, clasping the wounded back. Avon's still face was very close to his own, with eyes shut tightly and jaw muscles clenched. Tarrant pressed his lips against Avon's neck just as Servalan pushed his finger into Avon's ass.

Avon hissed angrily at the penetration and struggled weakly in Tarrant's arms. Tarrant held him tightly and continued to work his finger in and out, becoming increasingly excited at the thought that the narrow little passageway was being enlarged for his use. Presently he was able to slide a second finger inside Avon, and then a third. Each new invasion drew a groan from his victim, but Tarrant ignored these inarticulate protests.

"It's time, darling, Time to fuck him. I shall so enjoy watching your beautiful big cock going into his tight little ass." Tarrant felt himself grow harder still as Servalan smoothed the gel over his own straining cock. He released his hold and let himself be drawn around so that he faced the bloody mess of Avon's back. With a strange rush of both tenderness and ruthlessness, he embraced the other man, pressing hard against him. Avon was so much shorter that Tarrant had to bend his knees further than was quite comfortable to achieve the correct angle. But Tarrant's legs were young and strong, and he wanted Avon now. Servalan deftly moved his cock into position, and with a powerful surge he thrust upward.

Avon emitted a choking gasp that was almost a scream. Very slowly and distinctly, he said, "Del Tarrant, I'll kill you for this." Tarrant smiled. "It has been tried," he said sweetly into Avon's ear, and nibbled at the earlobe. His hands stroked the delicate fur of Avon's chest and belly, then moved down to hold Avon's hips in place as he thrust harder and harder. Avon was silent now, and his lack of response began to make Tarrant angry. The myriad disappointments and frustrations of nearly two years in Avon's uncongenial company surged through Tarrant's brain.

<<Feel it, Avon. Feel my cock sliding into you. Feel me inside you. You're mine, all mine. Who's the dominant male now?

Does it hurt, Avon? It should. You've hurt all of us, plenty of times. Take that for the sneers. That for the insults. That for the snarls. That for the threats.

You deserved the flogging. And you deserve the fucking. It should have been done long ago. Take it, Avon. Take it up the ass. You asked for it. Take that. And =that=. And THAT.>>

Tarrant dug his hands into Avon's thighs, pulling them even further apart as his cock split Avon's ass. Servalan stood in front of Avon, with a smile on her red lips and an eager gleam in her eyes. She rested her hands on his chest, then suddenly curved them into claws and raked bloody tracks down the two sides of his body, converging on his groin. She closed her hands around his testicles and slowly, relentlessly squeezed. Avon screamed and jerked convulsively as Tarrant exploded inside him.

Spent, Tarrant clung for a moment to his victim, hanging on Avon as Avon hung from the ropes. He withdrew and staggered backwards to lean against the wall. Servalan stayed where she was for a moment, taunting the bound man.

"How does it feel, Avon dear, to have another man's come dripping out of your ass and running down your legs? Tied like that, you're available to anyone that wants you-- anyone at all. I could call in a squad of troopers and have all of them take you, one after the other. Perhaps they would use their guns on you, too. Would you like that? But no, we'll save those games for later. I promised you to Tarrant, and I don't think he's through with you yet. Tarrant is such an-- energetic-- young man."

"As you should know," said Tarrant, grinning shakily at her. She returned the smile and handed him a damp towel. "Perhaps you'd like to freshen up before we continue."

Tarrant noticed for the first time that in addition to the usual aftermath of sex, the entire front of his body was smeared with blood where he had pressed against Avon. He cleaned himself, staring admiringly at Servalan as he did so. She was as elegant and unruffled as ever, still fully clothed in her black gown. Yet although he cherished the memory of their dalliance on Virn, and was still very much aware of Servalan's desirability on an intellectual level, the focus of his more specific erotic urges had somehow shifted to Avon. By acting on his desire for Avon, he would serve her.

"I expect you would like some variety, wouldn't you, darling? And I would enjoy watching you take him in different positions. But if we're going to untie him, we had better take some precautions. The flogging was not quite so effective as I had hoped; there may be a little fight left in him yet. Let's not take chances."

The room, it seemed, had been stocked with everything that Servalan had anticipated she might need. Now she had produced an injector, presumably containing some sort of drug. She pressed it against Avon's naked thigh.

"It's a kind of muscle relaxant," she explained to Tarrant. "He's still aware, but he won't be able to move at all for several minutes. Then the effect will wear off gradually. Feeling recovered? Good. Cut him down."

She handed Tarrant a knife, and he followed her instructions, cutting through the ropes at Avon's ankles and wrists. The cords had not been tied especially tightly, and Tarrant was surprised to see that the skin beneath them was badly torn. Then he thought of the scene that must have preceded his arrival. The Avon he knew would have fought and cursed under the lash, struggling until his body succumbed to pain and exhaustion. Now that same body was limp in Tarrant's arms, a dead weight. Tarrant tipped Avon's head back and stared into his face. There was no obvious sign of consciousness; the eyes were closed, the lips slightly parted. On the spur of the moment, he bent to kiss the slack mouth. In that one, brief earlier kiss he had not dared to thrust his tongue past Avon's teeth, but he did so now, ravaging the other man's mouth as he had already plundered his ass. He was not gentle; he realized dimly that he was probably bruising Avon's lips with his own teeth.

"Now drop him."

"Huh?" Tarrant came up for air, not sure if he had heard Servalan's words correctly.

"I said drop him. On the floor. Just let go."

Puzzled but obedient, Tarrant did as he was told. Avon slid down him and crumpled in a heap at his feet.

"What was that for?" Tarrant asked.

"Oh, never mind. It was just something that I wanted to see. He's had that coming to him for a long, long time." Servalan looked very smug, but offered no further explanation.

"Put him on the couch over there."

The couch was a long, narrow divan, almost like a bed. Maneuvering Avon onto it was a little more difficult than Tarrant had anticipated, as the other man weighed almost as much as he did. But Tarrant soon had him sprawled face down on the padded surface. Avon looked extremely vulnerable, lying with his head turned to one side and the marks of his beating plainly visible.

"Lift his hips," said Servalan. When Tarrant complied, she slipped a round bolster under Avon. Tarrant released him, and he lay across the pillow with his buttocks raised in the air, his legs still spread apart. Servalan took hold of Avon's limp arms, pulled them together behind his back, and tied them together with a black cord.

"Why?" said Tarrant. "You said the drug would keep him from moving anyway."

Servalan smiled in reminiscence. "Those hands were at my throat once. I like seeing them bound." One fingernail traced a circle in Avon's upturned palm. "It accentuates his helplessness. He can't reach to protect his ass."

She sunk her claws into Avon's welted buttocks and spread the cheeks wide. "Look, he's bleeding. I expect he really was a virgin. To think that Blake had this at his disposal and never made use of it. The fool." She looked up at Tarrant.

"Put your fingers in him again. See how much of your hand you can get in, now that he's stretched out a bit. I'd do it myself, but, well, you see my fingernails." She shrugged prettily. "There's no point in damaging him any more than necessary."

Tarrant was more than happy to explore the delicate little hole that he had just filled with his come. He found the lubricant and smeared it over his hand. One by one, his slim fingers slid easily into the tight but slippery opening. Presently he was holding the computer technician in a most intimate grip, four fingers sunk into Avon up to the knuckles. His own cock was standing at attention once again, eager to take the place of his fingers.

"Ready to fuck him again?" said Servalan. Tarrant nodded. She continued to hold Avon's buttocks apart as Tarrant moved into position. Tarrant rocked his hand back and forth in Avon's ass, eventually withdrawing it and replacing it with his cock in the same motion. Both he and Servalan stared down in rapt fascination at the sight of his powerful organ piercing the object of their mutual lust. As he thrust he noticed idly that one of her claws, sunk directly into a whip welt, was drawing blood anew. Only when he was fully encased did she release her grip and stand aside.

This time, Tarrant's emotional reaction to his unwilling partner was quite different. More than anger, he felt affection and pity. He paused to untie Avon's hands and let them fall at his sides once more. Very gently he reached out to touch the tortured back. It was a shame that Avon's beauty had been so marred; and yet it was the pain and shock of those injuries that had turned his cold, arrogant shipmate into a sweetly yielding lover. Tarrant leaned forward, heedless now of Avon's condition, curling his body around the other man's and slipping his arms about his waist to hold him close, all the while pumping into him in a steady rhythm. Avon was short enough to fit precisely under the arch of Tarrant's long body, yet sturdy enough to bear his weight securely. Tarrant nuzzled the back of Avon's neck. He had a sudden, vague recollection of something he must have read or heard long ago: weren't there certain Terran animals that, when mating, bit the nape of the neck to make the partner submissive? Not that any such action was needed now; Avon was already as docile as could be desired. Who could have imagined how delicious it would be: Avon, pliant and obedient to Tarrant's will.

<<No such thing, said a little voice somewhere in the back of his mind. Avon, submissive? Hah! Avon, unconscious. No, worse than that. Avon, all too aware of what's happening to him, beaten and drugged and taken very much against his will. You're a rapist, Del Tarrant.>>

But it was a very small voice, and it was easily ignored. Tarrant concentrated on the thrill of possessing Avon. Many people had desired the body he now held, but no other man had ever had Avon. And despite Servalan's foolish talk of squads of troopers, Tarrant was determined that no other man ever would. Avon was his.

Joyfully he claimed his prize, shooting his come into the unresisting body beneath him.

He lay in the same position for several minutes, burying his face in Avon's soft hair. Avon began to stir slightly under him, but he was securely pinned by Tarrant's weight. When Tarrant's cock had shrunk enough to slip from its haven, he reluctantly disentangled himself and stood up.

"Magnificent," said Servalan. Gazing admiringly at him, she wiped the sweat from his face and proceeded down his body, cleaning him efficiently. "It's wonderful to find a man who can handle Avon," she continued. "He asks for it, you know. It's why he's so rude. He needs someone to fuck the arrogance out of him. Blake wasn't man enough to do it, but you are." She caressed Tarrant's shoulder.

It was certainly a novel theory of Avon's personality, but under the circumstances, Tarrant was not inclined to argue with her. Unsure what to say, he flashed her one of his dazzling grins instead.

There was a small sound from the bed, and Servalan turned her attention to Avon. His eyes were open and he was glaring at her with obvious hatred, but he seemed unable to do more than twitch. Servalan ruffled his hair.

"Are you coming around just a bit?" she inquired solicitously. Avon showed his teeth in something approximating a snarl and snapped weakly at her hand, a trapped animal making one last vain gesture of defiance.

"Naughty!" she said, and slapped him. Then one of her tiny guns was in her hand. Tarrant could never decide where in her form- fitting gowns she kept those weapons, but she seemed always to have one at hand. Now she was rubbing it against Avon's face. The tone of her voice was no longer playful but was taking on an edge of vindictive cruelty.

"Have you forgotten where you are, Avon? Have you forgotten who has you? I can do anything I like with you, Avon. Anything at all."

Tarrant stared in horrified fascination as she pushed the rounded muzzle of the gun into Avon's exposed backside. There was a muffled groan from the man on the bed as she jabbed the thing into him.

"Does it hurt, then? It's not so very big, and it's not in very far, but the metal is cold and hard. Not like Tarrant's nice warm cock, is it. Perhaps when I am quite, quite done with you, I will kill you this way. That would be amusing, wouldn't it? We could disguise it as an auto-erotic fatality; everyone knows that you rebels are prone to perversity."

<<She's a fine one to talk about perversity,>> thought Tarrant. "Really now, this is going too far," he said.

"Tarrant, darling, of course I'm only teasing him! A clever fellow like you should have seen that at once. And this toy is much too small to really hurt him." But she put the gun away, to Tarrant's relief.

"Forgive me, darling. I should have been paying attention to you." Tarrant's uneasiness vanished as she began to stroke and fondle him in a most exciting way. He was happily surprised to find that he would be able to continue their games shortly; he seemed to have a remarkable amount of stamina today, even by his own usual high standards. Perhaps it was the stimulation of Servalan's seductive presence, or the fact that he was in some way enjoying both her and Avon at once. He was not disposed to speculate about the cause, but only to enjoy the results.

"How shall we do it this time?" she inquired, when it became clear that Tarrant was ready for another round. "Perhaps on his back, with his legs up? Now that he's a bit more lively, it might be fun to watch his face while you fuck him."

Tarrant had no objection. Fucking Avon was such a pleasure that he thought he could go on doing it indefinitely, in any position whatsoever. Standing over the bed, he took Avon by one shoulder and hip and rolled him over. Avon grimaced in pain as his back touched the bed. He actually managed to pull himself up, clutching at Tarrant's arms to support his weight, before he lost his grip and fell back heavily, gasping at the shock of impact. He lay as if stunned while Tarrant spread his legs apart and moved between them.

Tarrant grasped the slim ankles, now banded with raw, bloody rope burns. He lifted Avon's legs and pushed them forward until the man was bent almost double, his hips raised off the bed. Servalan tucked a cushion under Avon to hold him in that position and guided Tarrant's rod toward its destined goal. He sank into Avon more deeply than ever before, luxuriating in the firm but yielding grip of that velvety interior. Avon squirmed under him but was far too weak to escape. Still, Tarrant could see that holding Avon's legs propped against his shoulders was going to be difficult and annoying.

"Wrap his legs around your waist," said Servalan. <<That won't help much,>> thought Tarrant; but he was too far gone in the intoxication of erotic excitement to articulate his thoughts immediately.

"Just do it," she said. Tarrant complied. He was surprised to observe that Avon's legs stayed twined around him even when he was no longer holding them.

"I've tied his ankles behind your back," said Servalan, sounding pleased with herself. "Will that do? Can you move?"

There was no need for Tarrant to answer. The odd arrangement worked beautifully, given Tarrant's slim waist and Avon's long legs. The pilot was lost in physical sensation, almost forgetting where he was and what he was doing as he rocked back and forth in a dreamy haze of pleasure for what seemed a blissful eternity.

He was jolted back to reality by a sudden pressure against his chest and a faint, hoarse voice calling his name. He opened his eyes and stared down at Avon, who was pressing his hands weakly against Tarrant's chest. The shapely lips were twisted into a sneer, but the dark eyes seemed filled with desperate pleading.

"Tarrant." Avon could barely whisper. "No. Stop it."

Tarrant was charmed by Avon's futile resistance, but he felt that it was important to assert himself. Avon must learn his proper place: under Tarrant. He stroked Avon's face.

"You're mine now," was all he said. A stronger message was conveyed by his actions. He took Avon's arms and pushed them away, pinning the other man's wrists over his head with one hand while the other hand fastened gently but firmly around Avon's throat. He squeezed ever so slightly, just enough to make it clear what he could do, and felt his victim swallow. Avon said nothing, but for the first time his expression showed real fear.

Slowly and carefully, Tarrant withdrew until only the head of his penis remained within Avon's much-used ass. Then he slammed in as hard as he could, burying himself to the hilt in one thrust. Avon screamed, whether from the pain of the sudden penetration or the jolting of his injured back, or both, Tarrant had no idea. He repeated the maneuver, pounding into Avon, punishing the other man with his cock. Avon screamed again, but the screams grew fainter with each stroke, until they were reduced to choking gasps and finally died away entirely. By the time that Tarrant flooded Avon with his come yet again, the other man was lying still and quiet beneath him.

Tarrant released Avon's hands and throat and clutched his shoulders instead as he gasped for breath himself. Then he experienced a moment of irrational panic. Avon was so very still. He reassured himself by touching the pulse point in the neck once again, and passing a hand before Avon's face to check the tiny stirring of his breath. He was dimly aware of Servalan doing something behind him. Avon's legs came away from his waist and fell back on either side of him, nudging his limp cock out of its lodging place. Reluctantly he pulled away, eased himself off of the bed, and stood up.

Servalan slipped her arm around Tarrant's waist. "Splendid, truly splendid," she said. Tarrant was uncertain whether she meant his performance or Avon's condition; but after all, he thought with a certain pride, the latter was the result of the former. The two of them stood side by side, gazing down at the body they had so thoroughly ravished. Avon lay just as Tarrant had left him, with his arms flung over his head and his body arched backwards across the cushion. His sprawled position seemed very awkward, as if the grace that normally informed his every movement had now fled with his consciousness. For the moment, he had escaped his tormentors.

"I'm afraid he's had enough for now," said Servalan regretfully. "I suppose we could continue, but it wouldn't be nearly such fun. Besides, I expect you might like a little rest yourself. And I, as usual, have business to attend to. A Commissioner's work is never done. Let's have him cleaned up, while I work and you rest, and we can start again in a few hours. Yes?"

It sounded like a good plan to Tarrant. He nodded. Servalan let go of him and pressed a button in the wall. Two mutoids appeared almost immediately. Servalan gestured toward the body on the bed.

"Take him to Medical. Repair any internal injuries. The external injuries should be disinfected, but no further treatment as yet. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Madame." Their faces impassive, the mutoids picked Avon up, handling him with an ease that Tarrant rather envied; clearly, his not inconsiderable weight was negligible to their superhuman, artificially enhanced strength. They carried him out the door, and Servalan turned back to Tarrant.

"Will you be all right here for a while, darling? I think you should get some sleep."

And indeed, Tarrant suddenly felt very sleepy. He sat down on the couch.

"Dream of what to do next time, my gorgeous stud," said Servalan, kissing him on the forehead. She swept out of the room, and Tarrant was left alone. He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down.

* * *

"I can't believe I let you girls talk me into going back when I'd only just gotten away," said Vila morosely. "Always a sucker for a pretty face, that's me."

"It's not exactly 'back'," said Dayna. "We're nowhere near Betafarl any more."

"So much the worse," said Vila. "Deeper and deeper into the jaws of the Federation, and for what? A coldhearted bastard who always puts his own skin first, and a stuck- up playboy. Why do you want them back, anyway?"

Dayna glared at him.

"Vila, you talk too much when you're nervous, and you're starting to make me nervous too," said Soolin. She looked as cool and calm as ever, but her eyes were beginning to glitter dangerously. "That question doesn't deserve an answer, but I'll give you one anyway. Avon is my employer, and our contract stands until one of us decides to terminate it. I don't give a damn about his personal qualities as long as he stands by the contract. As for Tarrant, well, we had better hope that we don't suffer any damage to the automatic systems, because none of us can handle =Scorpio= if Slave's not fully functional. And we'd also better hope that we don't get into any really tight spots, because even with Orac's help we can't do the kind of fancy flying he can."

"Just don't blame me if one of these days you're terminated along with your contract," said Vila. Soolin ignored him.

"Orac, show us what you've come up with," she said.

Orac's mosquito-like whine intensified.

*My monitoring of Federation communications has indicated that Avon and Tarrant are being held for questioning at a Space Command outpost on the planet Genevan, currently occupied by Federation Commissioner Sleer of the Pacification Program.* A brownish-red planet appeared on the screen. *The command center is built into an ancient fortress in the central desert of the northernmost continent.* They saw a massive, ugly stone building rising out of a barren plain. A sudden gust of wind blew dust across the screen.

"What a pile of rock," said Dayna. "But she always did like antique architecture. I remember that place of hers on Earth."

"I'm glad I missed it," said Vila.

"Oh, shut up!" Dayna snapped.

"Forgive me for interrupting, but we are approaching the Genevan system." Slave's obsequious voice was a welcome distraction.

"Orac, do you have the floor plans of that base?" Soolin asked. "Can you put us down in an inconspicuous spot? I think the medical center might be the best place to start looking." She turned back to the other two. "We'll have to make this as quick as possible. Find them, grab them, get out. Our only advantages are speed and surprise. As soon as we're spotted, we'll have to run for it, whether we've got them or not. This may be our only chance, so we've got to make it good. Dayna, of the three of us, you're the best at handling the ship. You stay here while Vila and I go down. Bring us back at the first sign of trouble."

"Right," said Dayna, alert at the controls. Soolin stood and moved toward the teleport.

"Orac, stand by to teleport us as soon as we're within range. Come on, Vila."

"Why me?" he grumbled under his breath.

<<Because after the way you ran out on Avon and Tarrant, Dayna and I aren't about to leave you alone on the ship,>> thought Soolin; but she refrained from saying it aloud.

* * *

Soolin felt the familiar but still slightly unpleasant tingling of the teleport effect as she and Vila materialized in a deserted corridor. The combination of solid, old stonework walls and modern metal doors was incongruous and sinister. They were in a dimly lit side branch that opened into a larger, more brightly lit hallway just ahead of them. At the sound of footsteps in the main hallway, Soolin and Vila flattened themselves against the wall.

Two mutoids came into view, framed for seconds in the opening. They were carrying a body between them: naked, male, streaked with blood, and apparently unconscious; dark hair, pale skin, moderately well built... The mutoids and their burden were almost out of sight when Soolin realized, with the shock of a delayed reaction, that she'd been looking at Avon.

She considered what to do. Mutoids were fast, but if she had had Dayna as her backup, they could have taken out one each and grabbed Avon then and there. Vila was nowhere near the shot that Dayna was, though, and she didn't want to risk a scuffle with a helpless Avon in the middle. Besides, if Avon was being returned to a holding cell after a torture session, which seemed very likely, then the mutoids might lead them to Tarrant as well. As the footsteps receded she slipped out into the hallway behind them, motioning for Vila to follow her. At least she had confidence in his ability to move silently.

They followed the gruesome little procession around several more twists in the corridor, hanging back as far as possible while keeping them still in sight. Presently the mutoids stopped in front of a metal door, palmed it open, and entered. Soolin and Vila retreated behind the last bend in the corridor. Soolin was peering cautiously around the edge when the mutoids returned without Avon and took up guard positions on either side of the door. Now or never, she thought. She stepped out of the shadows and gunned them both down before they caught sight of her.

Vila had the door open almost instantly, and the two of them charged in. It was a medical facility; Avon was stretched out face down on a table near the door, with a man and woman in white bending over him.

"Hands up!" said Soolin. "Get away from him. Over there, against the wall." She gestured impatiently with the gun, and they complied at once.

"You've got to let us treat him," said the woman.

"Fat chance," said Vila. "I can see the treatment he's gotten here already." Soolin didn't dare take her eyes off her prisoners to look at Avon, but she had had a quick impression of a great deal of blood. She wanted to get him back to =Scorpio= right away, but she had to try for Tarrant too.

"Anyone else here?" she queried. "Medics, patients?"

"No, no one," the man replied; but Soolin said, "Check it out, Vila."

Vila gulped and looked unhappy, but he stepped, gun in hand, into the next room.

"Empty," he reported on his return. "Beds, but nobody in them."

"Where's the other prisoner?" Soolin demanded of the pair that she was covering.

"With the Commissioner, I suppose," said the woman. "Please don't kill us. We're not the ones who hurt your friend."

"You didn't help," said Soolin. "Vila, reset your gun to stun."

"Uh-- I didn't bring the stun clip."

"Then find something to tie them up with. I don't want to kill them-- yet. We might need more information later."

Soolin watched carefully until the two medics were lying in a corner, trussed and gagged. Then she turned her attention to Avon. She was relieved to find that his condition was not as bad as she had feared. His back looked terrible, but a closer examination showed that the wounds were relatively superficial. The pulse was strong, and there was no indication of any immediately dangerous injury. She put one of the extra teleport bracelets on him, positioning it carefully on his forearm to avoid the abrasions on his wrist.

"Soolin, we've got to get some clothes on him," said Vila.

"Don't be ridiculous, Vila. Look at the state of his skin. We shouldn't let anything touch it; it would hurt him and aggravate the injuries. And since when do you give a damn about Avon's modesty? You've seen plenty of naked men before, and so have I."

"Yeah, but remember who this one is. He probably doesn't care about me, and maybe not even about you, though I doubt that, but what about Dayna? If she sees him like this, you know he'll be embarrassed. And if he's embarrassed, he'll be hell to live with. It's for our own good. He'll be healed up soon enough; it won't make that much difference."

Trust Vila to start an argument at a time like this, thought Soolin; but she had to admit he had a point. "All right, get a sheet. But don't waste any time. We've still got to look for Tarrant."

Vila pilfered a sheet from one of the other beds, and between them they managed to wrap it around Avon's middle. The job was made more difficult by the fact that he came half-awake and fought them, flailing out wildly. He didn't seem to know who they were.

"No," he said. "Hands- off- me! =No=." His voice had an un-Avon-like tone of desperation that Soolin found unnerving.

"Avon," she said urgently, "it's all right. We're taking you back to =Scorpio=. You're safe." She had to hold his arm to keep the teleport bracelet from flying off. Whether he understood or not, he calmed enough to let them slide him off the table and onto his feet. They had to hold him up on either side.

"He must weigh eighty kilos even without his damned boots," Vila complained. Soolin thought that was probably a gross overestimate, but a barely conscious Avon was indeed a heavy, awkward package. Moreover, she realized, they now had only one free hand each. Vila had already worked out the solution.

"Soolin, stick your hand over here," he said, and used his own free hand to operate her teleport bracelet. "Dayna, bring us up now."

Dayna was shocked when they reappeared on =Scorpio=. "What happened?" she asked, staring at Avon in a way that made Soolin think Vila had had the right idea about covering him up.

"Torture," Soolin replied succinctly. "Vila, let's get him onto one of the bunks."

"Not the medi-capsule?"

"Not for now. He isn't critical, and I don't want Slave distracted from the scanners unless it's a real emergency. I'll have Orac do a quick diagnosis."

Between them they got Avon across the flight deck and bundled him into a bunk.

"Stop it," he mumbled. "No more."

"Right, Avon," said Soolin. "No more pain. You'll be all right now. Dayna," she continued, "you and Vila go back down and look for Tarrant. They said the Commissioner had him; try to find her private quarters. But be prepared to get back here at the first sign of trouble. Orac, you found a good spot for us the first time; see if you can do as well this time. Put them down when you're ready."

She watched the other two vanish in green sparkles. Then she fetched the emergency medical supplies, such as they were, and carried Orac to the bunk where Avon was lying. There was just room to balance the small computer on the edge of the bed beside the prone figure.

"Orac, is this arrangement adequate for diagnosis? Will you need sensor leads?"

*The proximity is adequate. No additional connection is needed. But you realize that without the facilities of Xenon base, the options for treatment are extremely limited.*

"I know. The first thing I want to know is whether you can heal him using just the medi-capsule here, or whether we'll have to get him to a better facility."

*Shall I begin the diagnosis?*

"Just a minute. Slave, if pursuit ships-- or any other ship-- are sighted, inform me at once. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Madam, I understand. I will report to you immediately if other ships come within range."

"All right, Orac. Remember that we may have to break off suddenly if =Scorpio= is detected; be ready to bring up Dayna and Vila, and Tarrant if they find him. You may begin."

*I have completed the diagnosis,* said Orac a moment later. Soolin thought that it sounded less pompous than usual, almost subdued; but perhaps that was simply because she found Orac less irritating when it was performing an obviously useful function.

*Soolin, put a tranquilizer pad on Avon,* Orac said.

"No," the patient murmured faintly, pulling away from her touch. She was beginning to worry about his mental condition as well as his physical state; but considering the pain he must be in, a certain amount of confusion was inevitable. Soolin had seen men beaten like that before and had some idea how much it must hurt. Avon might well have been drugged, too; she'd know in a minute.

"Doctor's orders," said Soolin firmly, pressing the pad to his forehead. It was a relief not to have to watch him suffer any longer. Not for the first time, she thought how ironic it was that she had become the medical technician for the group; yet it was true that her practical experience went considerably beyond Tarrant's FSA first-aid training, and the others knew even less.

*Shall I proceed with forensic testing?* said Orac.

"What?" Soolin was startled, unsure what Orac was referring to. Forensic testing? Surely it was plain enough what had been done, and by whom, curse the slinky, scheming bitch. <<I'll bet I know damn well whose claws made those tracks down his chest,>> she thought.

*It should be done as soon as possible, before the treatment begins,* Orac persisted.

"Testing for what? What are you talking about?" said Soolin.

She had never heard Orac sound embarrassed before, but it did now. *The evidence strongly suggests forcible rape by another male. Do you want me to ascertain the perpetrator?*

"=What=?" She knew well enough that such things happened, but she could not somehow connect the idea with Avon.

*You can see for yourself, Soolin, that he was tied and beaten. There are traces of recent anal intercourse, and minor damage to the rectum indicating that he was roughly handled and was unaccustomed to such activity. Under the circumstances, I think it most unlikely that he consented. Avon has his sexual peculiarities, but they do not, to my knowledge, include anything remotely resembling this abuse.*

The last words were delivered in an angry hiss. Orac seemed to have surprisingly strong feelings about Avon's bodily welfare. Soolin wondered briefly what Avon's peculiarities were, and how Orac knew about them. She decided that she didn't want to know.

"So your test can determine who did it?" she asked.

*Yes, if the genetic pattern is on file. Shall I proceed?*

"Go ahead."

There was a moment of silence.

"Well?" said Soolin. She half expected to hear, "'Well' is not a question," but instead there was another moment of silence.

*Most unexpected,* said Orac, almost to itself. *But there is no significant possibility of error. The only similar pattern I have ever encountered belonged to someone who is now unquestionably dead.*

"Out with it, Orac," said Soolin impatiently. "Who did it?"

*There is a 99.7% probability that the perpetrator is Del Tarrant.*

Soolin was stunned. She could hardly believe what she had heard. She grasped at a straw: "Not 100%?"

*It is conceivable that Tarrant has an identical twin, natural or cloned, that we have never heard of,* said Orac, *but I estimate the likelihood of such an individual's existence at well under 1%.*

With an effort, Soolin pulled herself together. She had no idea how to cope with this bizarre revelation; for the time being, she would have to concentrate on immediate concerns. "Orac, keep this information strictly confidential. Consider it a matter of medical ethics. What about treatment? Can we handle it?"

*Yes," said Orac. "There is nothing that would not heal naturally in a matter of weeks if properly tended. We can speed the process by using the accelerated healing field in the medi-capsule, inefficient though it is. I would suggest a four-hour therapy session as soon as possible, to be followed by twelve hours of sleep and a second four- hour session.*

"Orac, what about his mental condition? He seemed very confused. Is he drugged?"

*I have observed that humans cannot be expected to remain logical when under the influence of pain and emotional distress,* said Orac peevishly. *There have been some clumsy attempts at conditioning, all quite unsuccessful. I found minute traces of a number of psychoactive drugs, but none in sufficient quantity to have any lingering effect at present. The fact that they resorted to inflicting physical damage is in itself an indication that the other efforts were ineffective. A powerful muscle relaxant has been administered, probably with the intention of rendering him helpless, but its effects will shortly be dissipated completely.*

"Are you saying that he will be coherent again when he is healed?"

*Almost certainly.*

They were interrupted by Slave's alarm.

"Madam, I am reporting as you requested. Pursuit ships are approaching and will be within range in three minutes."

Avon's treatment would have to wait. Soolin grabbed Orac and sprinted across the flight deck.

"Orac, start plotting a course to get us out of here. Dayna, Vila, do you have Tarrant?"

"Of course not." Dayna's voice came over the comm link. "We've barely started--" Soolin cut her off and hit the controls to bring them up.

"Battle stations," she said as they materialized. "They've spotted us. Orac, go."

"What about Tarrant?" Dayna cried, even as she ran for her station.

"Later," said Soolin. "For now let's hope they haven't got the stardrive yet."

The little ship shot out of the Genevan system.

* * *

Tarrant awoke with a start. He lay in bed with his eyes still closed, not yet ready to face the world. He had had very peculiar and disturbing dreams, and they all involved Avon. First he had been staring at flashing lights while someone with a very persuasive voice spoke to him at length about how attractive Avon was, and how infuriating. Then there had been a long and rather nasty sex dream in which he had performed various acts with both Avon and Servalan, but mostly Avon. <<Ugh.>> Tarrant opened his eyes, feeling very relieved that it was only a dream after all.

It wasn't.

He was in the room he had dreamed of, lying on the same bed on which he had just--<< face it, Del; an officer never shrinks from reality, no matter how unpleasant>> \-- raped Avon.

It had to be a trick. But every detail was just as he remembered it, from the silver sheets on the bed, now liberally spotted with what looked like bloodstains, to the severed strands of rope lying on the floor by the pillars across the room. He had an uneasy feeling that if he inspected those more closely, there would be blood on them as well. If it was a deception, it was an extremely detailed one. Then there was the condition of his own body; he was certain that he had indeed been engaging in some sort of sexual activity, if only (he hoped) in his sleep.

Tarrant had never dared to question Avon about the exact nature of his "drug induced and electronic dream" on Terminal, but he remembered inspecting the equipment that had been used: the voice synthesizer, the visual image structurizer. It seemed very likely that the sensory input of the process would be limited primarily to sight and hearing; but his own dream-- and he felt less and less sure that it =was= a dream-- had included vivid impressions of smells, tastes, and above all, tactile sensations. Had Avon ever touched his dream Blake? Tarrant doubted it. So either the process had been dramatically improved in barely a year, or-- much as he hated to admit it-- his experience had been real.

<<How could I have done such a thing? I've never wanted an unwilling partner, and I always despised anyone that did. For that matter, I've never been more than slightly interested in other men. What happened to me?

Conditioning. =She= did it, damn her evil soul to hell. Look what she did to Dayna. And she was there the whole time, with that smile on her face, egging me on.

I wouldn't have done it to a woman. At least, I don't think I would have done it to a woman-- who knows what =she= could have made me do. And I don't take advantage of Deltas; that's a coward's game. But Avon-- I never thought about whether it would be morally wrong to rape Avon. I never imagined it would be possible.

But he was so beautiful. At the time, I couldn't resist. I see now what the women see in him. So does that make me a woman? But it was me that...

And that last time, I was really hurting him. I can't even say I didn't know what I was doing. I did, and I enjoyed it. Just like any vicious little Federation thug. Have they turned me into one of them in the end, after all?

He'll kill me. He said he would. And he'll have every right to.

If it were anyone else, I could apologize. Tell them I was sorry, I know it was horrible, I only did it because I'd been conditioned. It's all true, but he won't care.

What am I going to do?

You're going to pull yourself together and stop sniveling.>> Tarrant was stern with himself.

<<You've got to get out of here, and you've got to get him out. You can settle your differences later. But Avon's in bad shape now, thanks partly to you, and you're the only one who's in a position to do anything. She may not know that your conditioning has worn off; if so, that's an advantage. Find some clothes. Find a weapon. Get the hell out of here.>>

Quickly Tarrant ransacked the storage compartments that lined one end of the room. He found an assortment of bizarre devices constructed of various materials, primarily leather and metal; some had electronic controls. He was mystified as to the intended purpose of several of the objects. In other cases, however, he could imagine their function all too well; and he felt extremely glad that Servalan had not yet tried them out on either Avon or himself.

He was beginning to despair of finding clothing when he came upon a pair of trousers in supple black leather. They fitted him perfectly, obviously made to his measure-- unless, of course, Servalan happened to have a fetish for men of precisely his body type. On the whole, he thought that unlikely; her taste seemed to be remarkably broad. The costume had clearly been intended for use in some sexual scenario involving him. The fact that there were no garments that would have fit either of the other two likely participants he found faintly alarming, not to mention embarrassing.

Tarrant approved of the sturdy practicality of leather, though he wished the pants had not been so uncomfortably tight. Still, it was better than nothing. In his search for a possible weapon, he finally settled on a metal bar slightly longer than his forearm, with hooks at either end, apparently part of a restraining device. It was heavy and solid and balanced well in his hand; he thought he could crack a skull with it. Tarrant was becoming angrier and angrier and was beginning to feel rather bloodthirsty.

Clothed and armed after a fashion, he examined the door of the room. He didn't know much about picking locks-- for a split second he thought wistfully of Vila-- but perhaps he could figure something out. He touched the controls, and to his surprise, the unlocked door swung open.

The mutoid waiting outside stunned him at once.

* * *

The Commissioner was in a towering rage. First there had been the report from the pursuit ships dispatched to Xenon: the place was deserted and largely demolished, nothing left worth salvaging, the rubble still smoking but the trail cold. And now this!

"What do you mean he is gone?"

The doctor was quaking to the point that he could barely speak. "T-two of his associates took him. The teleport."

Servalan redirected her gaze to the man next to him, a composed, almost bored- looking, subcommander. "What kind of security don't you have around here, Rax?"

"I believe you assumed personal responsibility for the prisoners, Commissioner," he said smoothly. "As soon we detected their ship, I sent an attack squadron after it. Its superior speed made capture impossible. My actions will speak for themselves."

A tide of fury swelled in Servalan. She wanted to grasp the two men in front of her and tear them apart. But the sniveling doctor wasn't worth the effort, while the officer was protected by having verification of her orders denying base personnel access to the interrogation wing. She couldn't even call him on a conduct violation, he was so carefully masking his gloating. Only the faintest hint of derision in his bright green eyes gave him away.

"What about Tarrant?" she demanded, almost as an afterthought.

"He's still here, probably because my ships chased the invaders away before they found him." Subcommander Rax nodded at the report resting on Servalan's desk. "One of your mutoids stunned him. I have no idea why."

He was so very smug. Barely controlling her anger, she waved her hand toward the door. "Get out of here, both of you."

She had almost had everything, she thought, gripping the edge of the desk so tightly that her fingers ached. Everything! Orac. The teleport. Photonic stardrive- powered ships. Avon. The Presidency. So secure this time that she would have been a veritable dictator, not even answerable to the officious High Council.

Now she had only Tarrant, and her interrogators had already wrung every morsel of technical information out of him. He was useless, unless...

Avon would never risk himself for Tarrant, not after what had happened, but maybe... just maybe Tarrant could lead her to Avon. That would do nicely.

And while the necessary arrangements were being made, she would have a little time left for personal amusement. It occurred to her that Tarrant could still be of use in more ways than one. A cathartic purge of her present foul temper would clear her mind so that she could concentrate on strategy once again. The preparations she had made for enjoying Avon to the fullest need not be completely wasted, after all.

Servalan began to smile in a way that might have frightened even Subcommander Rax, had he been there to see it. Tarrant was so much more innocent then he imagined himself to be, she thought fondly. This was going to be very amusing indeed.

* * *

Orac maintained that Avon should be resting now; but he was, of course, fully dressed and stalking about the flight deck as usual, though he moved stiffly and his face was white and drawn.

"We can't just leave Tarrant with Servalan," Dayna protested.

"Why not?" said Avon. "He enjoyed her company well enough on Virn."

"Oh, Avon! Yes, it was disgusting of him to do that, but who knows what she's doing to him now! I mean, look what she did to you!"

It was very obviously the wrong thing to say. There was an uncomfortable silence.

"You have no idea what happened," said Avon coldly.

Vila was staring at Avon with an odd expression on his face. Soolin could have sworn that she had seen his mobile features shift from a look of shock and pity to one of hard anger, not unlike Avon's own.

"Maybe I do, now," he said. "Had time to figure it out, haven't I? I had my suspicions when we found you. And if I don't feel too sorry for you, well Avon, you know why." He was the center of attention now. "I think you and he deserve each other," Vila finished, sitting back in his seat with his arms folded and his jaw jutting stubbornly out. The two women stared in amazement at the sight of Avon locked in a glaring contest with-- Vila?

"What was that all about?" said Dayna. No one answered.

"Oh, be quiet, Vila," said Soolin finally, though he already was. "You're only confusing the issue. Dayna, there's a real possibility that Tarrant has gone over to Servalan. Perhaps we'd better not try to rescue him until we know more about the situation." A quick glance showed her that Avon's basilisk gaze was still fixed on Vila. "Later," she mouthed silently at Dayna.

"I see," said Dayna, though she didn't, at all. "What will we do, then?"

For the moment, at least, Avon was distracted from the confrontation with Vila. He grinned nastily, that lopsided smile of his that was almost a sneer. It looked especially ghastly now.

"We find a bolthole," he said. "A strictly temporary bolthole, of course." The smile vanished as quickly as it appeared, and he shot another angry glance at Vila. Vila, who knew very well how far to push and when to stop, stayed silent, though he was still smirking knowingly at Avon.

Soolin hesitated a moment, then said, "I know a place that is probably safe. Dorian had a small complex on Kitran. He used it for entertaining. It's not as elaborate as Xenon nor, obviously, as secure, but it would give us space to spread out."

Avon's eyebrows rose questioningly. "You've not mentioned it before."

"I thought I might need it sometime." She shrugged. "I'm sure you understand."

"I do." Avon eased gingerly into Tarrant's usual position. "Slave," he directed, "I require a course change. We will be going to Kitran."

"Yes, Master. That would be heading seven-three-five."

Avon punched in the new coordinates and leaned back. His eyes closed for a split second as his back made contact with the chair; then they snapped open again. He eyed Vila sharply. "I shall be glad of some privacy."

* * *

A hand to the back of his aching head, Tarrant struggled to keep his eyes open. He was in the command chair of a pursuit ship; a safety harness held him in place. Groggy and disoriented, he asked, "Is anyone there?"

There was a clicking sound, and the star field on the forward screen dissolved to be replaced by a close-up of Servalan's face. She was smiling-- smugly and nastily. Tarrant sat up straighter, forcing himself alert, as she began to speak.

"Tarrant dear, how are you feeling? Tired out from your exertions, perhaps? You looked so charming asleep that I hadn't the heart to wake you, so I decided to leave you a message instead.

"Perhaps you are just a little confused? Wondering what, exactly, happened, and why a certain bad-tempered computer expert of our mutual acquaintance suddenly seemed so irresistible to you? And why, that being the case, you were-- let us say-- not exactly gentle with him?

"I assure you that it was all quite real, and I enjoyed every second of it.

"You were much easier to influence than I expected. Not such a pushover as your little friend Dayna, but then she had never been exposed to psychoactive drugs and had no resistance at all. I expected more from a former member of Federation Space Command. Still, the basic emotional patterns were unusually strong; possibly that made it easier to re-direct them.

"Even Space Command officers are never told just how the conditioning process works. After all, we might need to use it on them. But I can tell you, my darling Tarrant, that the process cannot create an emotion that did not previously exist; it can only adjust and realign existing feelings. Some part of Roj Blake really wanted to give up his futile resistance and lead the peaceful life of a good citizen. Dear little Dayna had true affection for her old tutor, and at the same time, truly despised Justin for his work on the animals. When we enhanced those feelings in one direction or another, it was easy to push her toward either love or hate. As for you, Tarrant, you have always felt genuine antagonism toward Avon, yet you also feel a certain-- affection is too strong a word-- admiration, perhaps. By playing on both of those emotions at once, and attaching them to your very powerful sexuality, we were able to produce the fascinating results that you experienced. The psychostrategists who helped me with you will be generously rewarded for their excellent work.

"But in the meantime, I am sorry to tell you that our fun with Avon is over. He has fled my hospitality with most unseemly haste. I expect he has rejoined the rest of his crew, and they are all doubtless wondering what has become of you.

"Upon due consideration, I have decided to release you also. Go to them, Tarrant, by all means. But Tarrant dear-- when you find Avon again, I think that you had better kill him at once. Because if you do not, he will most assuredly kill you.

"Goodbye, Tarrant."

The screen blanked to total black. Tarrant stared into the darkness that might have been a reflection of his equally black soul. He felt disgusted, sluggish, and deeply ashamed. Not unexpected considering what had been done to him: the drugs and the manipulation.

<<What to do?>> He tried, unsuccessfully, to brush away the swirling drug mists from his mind. He couldn't search for Avon; obviously that was what Servalan wanted with this benevolent gesture of hers. There was something she hoped to gain from his freedom. Tarrant was too woozy to figure out specifics, but he intended to thwart her. If she was following him, he'd lead her a merry chase, until his fuel or her patience wore out.

After setting the ship on course for a randomly chosen star system, he staggered to the small sleep area and fell into a bunk, wishing, somehow, that there was a way to undo the wrong he had done to Avon.

* * *

"No. That is final. I will not discuss the matter again."

"Very well, Avon. It's your decision."

Keeping her temper under firm control, Soolin left Avon in Dorian's study, where he spent much of his time lately, and strode back toward the central area of the Kitran complex. Despite strongly-worded recommendations from both her and Orac, Avon had flatly refused any further treatment after the first session in the medicapsule on =Scorpio=. It was true that Kitran lacked the extensive medical facilities of Xenon, having only basic emergency equipment similar to that on =Scorpio= itself. Still, it would have been sensible to use any available means to speed the natural healing process, which was still far from complete, to judge by the pained expressions that crossed Avon's face in unguarded moments.

Soolin suspected that, as a result of his recent experience, Avon disliked or even feared the prospect of lying confined and helpless in the drugged sleep of the capsule. She also wondered whether he might be deliberately cherishing his pain as fuel for his anger; it seemed the sort of perverse thing that Avon might well do, especially in reaction to an event traumatic enough to have upset someone considerably more stable than Avon was to begin with. His irrationality in the matter worried her, but she had not yet come up with any effective means of combatting it.

Her other two companions were sources of anxiety as well. Since his outburst on =Scorpio=, Vila had made a point of avoiding Avon, and of shirking whenever possible the many jobs that needed to be done to make the long-disused base fit for occupation again. Predictably, Dorian's stock of fine wines was diminishing steadily. In contrast to Vila's slothfulness, Dayna was industriously investigating the base's weapons systems and practicing target shooting and unarmed combat exercises with Soolin; but she continued to express her concern for Tarrant far more frequently than anyone else found comfortable. The tense atmosphere at Kitran had Soolin's nerves on edge, though an outside observer would have detected no change in her calm demeanor.

* * *

Tarrant kept the pursuit ship on a random course, approaching one system after another but never actually landing. He occupied himself with dismantling, cleaning, and reassembling the various systems of the ship, paying careful attention to the design innovations added to the basic model since his own days in Space Command. At first he was fairly successful in keeping himself distracted from troubling thoughts during the days; but nights were another matter.

Night after night, Tarrant dreamed of Avon.

The dreams ran the emotional gamut. Many were vicious power fantasies, with Avon screaming in pain and anger and fear as Tarrant repeated the things he had actually done to him or, in the dream, tried out Servalan's assortment of gadgetry. Very rarely, his viewpoint shifted in the middle of the dream, and suddenly he was Avon, feeling the pain as his anus was pierced by Tarrant's hard cock or by some vile mechanical device. But his subconscious seldom allowed him the luxury of playing the victim; he was doomed to be the villain of this piece, however it might be acted out. He awoke from such dreams in an agony of guilt, dripping with sweat.

The sweet dreams, in their own way, were just as distressing if not more so. Their poignance lay in their utter impossibility. In these dreams Avon was a willing, eager, and skillful partner, returning Tarrant's caresses with equal fervor. Tarrant watched the hard face soften with joy instead of pain and marvelled again at Avon's beauty. Once he dreamed himself in bed with both Avon and Servalan. The three of them pleasured each other in the friendliest imaginable fashion, all rivalries and enmities forgotten. It was most enjoyable until he awoke and remembered the ugly reality behind the lovely fantasy. He was beginning to feel that the nice dreams were even worse than the nasty ones.

Then he had the most horrid dream of all: the one in which he actually tightened his hands around Avon's throat, squeezing the life from the other man as he raped him. There was no doubt that he had done it; he was staring down at the twisted, broken body when he awoke. Tarrant sat on the edge of the bed shaking, his face buried in his hands, exhausted but terrified to sleep again.

<<Could she possibly have done that to me? Made me a murderer as well as a rapist? Am I really so evil? Was that inside me somewhere, just waiting to be released by the conditioning?>>

He consoled himself that the dream of Avon's death had to be false. Servalan had as much as admitted that Avon was alive. But reality was beginning to blur as far as the other nightmares were concerned. He feared that he had abused Avon far more than his conscious mind admitted. Each repulsive act was performed in such intimate detail; it was hard to dismiss it as pure imagination.

Tarrant stopped going to his bunk, pacing the flight deck to distract himself whenever he began to feel tiredness. Working himself into a state of total exhaustion didn't alleviate his problems. He only had to fall into the lightest doze for the dreams to begin again. Then they began to haunt his waking moments as well. Desperate to free himself from the horror that was riding the ship with him, Tarrant aimed for the nearest planet, not sure why he was going there, only knowing that he needed to escape.

Etien was a Federated world. Since Tarrant was piloting a Space Command vessel, they readily gave him permission to land. As he reached to activate the landing sequence, the control panel blurred to a fuzzy patch of mottled colors. He blinked his eyes several times, but his vision refused to sharpen. His fingers searched for the correct buttons, not caring if they found the proper targets. Part of him might even have preferred an accident that would have ended all of his torment and confusion.

But Tarrant's piloting skills were so deeply ingrained that they functioned even through his extreme exhaustion. Despite the fatigue that clouded his brain as thoroughly as it smeared his optic nerves, he made a safe and uneventful landing. It was on the ground that he encountered trouble. The port authority of Etien required substantial docking fees, and Tarrant had neither cash nor credit. He was informed that the ship would be impounded until he paid the fees, with interest penalties mounting every day.

Perhaps, he thought dully, he might be able to find work in the city. In a spaceport bar there might be employers, legitimate or otherwise, who would be interested in hiring a pilot, especially one who was in no position to be particular about jobs. Wearily he trudged away from the port buildings, toward the bright lights of the town.

* * *

"Soolin, we have to convince Avon to allow us to look for Tarrant."

Soolin sipped her cafa before replying. "You've already talked to him," she hedged. "He seemed pretty set in his decision."

"That's because no one has supported me. I don't understand." Dayna dropped into the chair across from Soolin. "It's as if you and Vila don't want Tarrant back either."

"It's complicated."

"Because Tarrant beat Avon with a whip? We know he wouldn't have done that in his right mind." Dayna paused, then said in a quiet voice, "I remember how she manipulated me. And she had Avon believing that he saw Blake on Terminal. He has to understand."

Perhaps he would under different circumstances, Soolin told herself. But a sexual violation rarely produced a rational response in the victim. And it hadn't even been simple rape. Avon had been hurt, badly, damaged physically as well as mentally. That it had been Tarrant, with whom he had shared a volatile rivalry, was the ultimate humiliation.

Soolin tried to stall. She didn't want to lie to Dayna, but it seemed unfair to Avon to tell the whole truth. "We don't actually know that it was Tarrant who beat him. It could have been Servalan's people. But Tarrant was definitely involved."

"Why else would Avon be so angry?" Dayna asked. "You said Tarrant had hurt him. But he must realize that it wasn't deliberate."

"Dayna, drop it," Soolin finally responded.

The young girl gave her a dark glare before jerking angrily to her feet. "Tarrant wouldn't have abandoned any of us," she threw out as she stomped noisily from the room.

Soolin waited until Dayna's footsteps had faded before thumping the table. "Damn the lot of you!"

"I'll drink to that." Vila's head popped into view above the back of the lounge. He must have been stretched flat on its length, out of sight of the dining area. Soolin hadn't even realized he was in the room.

"Thanks for helping me with Dayna," she said.

Vila, wine bottle in hand, shuffled over to the table. "Tell her the truth. The problem isn't that Tarrant =beat= Avon; it's that he =raped= him. If she knew about the rape, she wouldn't be nattering on about rescuing Tarrant. Why bother when Avon would kill him on sight."

"How did you find out?" Soolin asked curiously.

"Wasn't hard. I've seen rape victims before. There was blood on him that wasn't from the whipping. And then there was the way he reacted every time Delboy's name was mentioned. Well, two and two always add up to four, I say."

"Even when you've been drinking steadily for three days. You're going through the supply here even faster than you did on Xenon. At this rate you'll exhaust it within the week."

"Better than exploding it to space dust when Avon decides it's time to leave here. We should have..." Vila cut off as a rumbling vibrated through the room. Instantly they were both on their feet, racing for the underground hangar.

"Avon's leaving us," Vila wailed.

Soolin shook her head, knowing he was wrong even before Avon appeared in the corridor ahead of them. "Dayna," she gasped, out of breath. "She's gone after Tarrant."

* * *

"I wonder where she is now," Vila mused aloud for perhaps the dozenth time. He was sipping Dorian's wine quite openly now, but no one bothered to rebuke him. Under the present circumstances it hardly seemed to matter.

The three castaways were sitting in the lounge area, a glum and dejected little group. Vila and Soolin had been there for some time already; Avon, after brooding in solitude for several hours, had finally deigned to join them.

Surprisingly, he answered Vila's rhetorical question.

"At this point she is most likely approaching a frontier planet known as Etien, where Tarrant is incarcerated in a jail cell in the largest city, having indulged himself in drunk and disorderly conduct." He looked pointedly at Vila's bottle.

"How the hell do you know that?"

"The same way that Dayna presumably did. I asked Orac to trace him. Unlike Dayna, I thought it better to let him stay where he was."

How typical of Avon, thought Soolin, not to have mentioned Tarrant's whereabouts to anyone else. She wondered what other secrets he might still be hoarding.

"Where =is= Orac, anyway?" Vila asked suddenly.

"If you hadn't been concentrating so hard on the wine, Vila," Soolin said acidly, "you might have noticed that Dayna took it with her."

"She is, after all, an intelligent young woman," Avon added. "No doubt she realized that my first response to her unauthorized departure would be to use Orac to override Slave's systems and recall =Scorpio=."

Vila must have been fairly drunk, Soolin thought, to have failed to notice the cursing when Avon discovered the loss of Orac, and when Dayna refused to respond in person to his transmissions. Instead she had sent a single recorded message stating that she would return shortly with Tarrant.

"So if she gets in trouble and doesn't come back, we're stuck here?" The possibility that no one had voiced so far seemed to be hitting Vila for the first time. "No transportation and no communication either?" His voice rose to a squeak.

"It's not quite that bad," said Soolin. "The base's own communication system can reach anyone on the planet or in orbit around it. I told you Dorian used this place for entertaining. He wanted it in an isolated area so that he himself could come and go freely, but not all of his guests came in on =Scorpio=. There's a city with a spaceport on the other side of the continent. We could reach it in a day by flyer or three to four days by groundcar. If Dayna doesn't return within a reasonable time, that's what I'm planning to do. You may join me or not, as you please."

And what a relief it would be, she thought, to be away from this temperamental band of renegades. Lately there had been all too many moments when she felt more like a babysitter than a colleague. Why should she always be the one expected to soothe troubled waters?

"Oh, let us be patient," said Avon, smiling one of his more unpleasant smiles. "Dayna may be impetuous, but she is far from incompetent. There is a reasonable chance that her mission will succeed. The question is, what happens after that?"

"Look at it this way," said Soolin in disgust. "If she brings Tarrant back, you can have the pleasure of killing him yourself."

* * *

Tarrant splashed water on his face and then returned to his assigned bunk in the crowded cell. The other prisoners were staring at him but keeping their distance. He'd overheard their conversations. They thought he was crazy, with his wild nightmares and determination to sleep as little as possible. He wouldn't have disagreed with their judgement.

He rested back against the wall, pulled his legs to his chest, and wrapped his arms about them. His head nodded toward his knees, but he jerked it back up. He couldn't fall asleep. There were still too many dreams. Even the cheap whiskey that he'd acquired by barter had suppressed them only temporarily.

Tarrant wondered dispassionately if one could die from lack of sleep or be driven crazy by repetitive nightmares. He suspected he'd learn the answer to one or both questions before he served his sentence. Though he didn't remember the incident, while drunk he'd destroyed property and attempted to destroy a few people. Without credits to cover his fine, his punishment was sixty days in this hellhole prison. It might very well end up being a life sentence.

He drifted into a numbed state of exhaustion, just centimeters from sleep. His eyes were open but they weren't registering; he wasn't aware that a guard had entered the cell until the man shook his shoulders.

"Move it," the man said gruffly, gesturing toward the door. "You're being released. A woman paid your fine."

"A woman," Tarrant echoed. He'd almost forgotten about Servalan. He was too tired to care about falling back into her clutches and stumbled after the guard without concern.

But it wasn't Servalan waiting to greet him. It was Dayna. She ran up and threw her arms around him despite the filth and odor clinging to his clothes and body. Embarrassed, he tried to back away, but she held him firm.

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think," she scolded him. "Come on, let's get out of here."

She led him to an isolated alley, refusing to listen when he objected to the teleport bracelet that she snapped onto his wrist. Then they were on =Scorpio=.

The flight deck was empty except for Orac. "Where is everyone?" he asked, worried.

Dayna was efficiently tackling the flight controls. "Slave, take us out of here on the preset course."

Tarrant grabbed the forward control bank to keep from falling as the ship accelerated. "Where are the others?" he repeated, trying again to gain Dayna's attention. "And where are we going?"

"Home," Dayna said simply.

"Xenon?" he asked miserably, sure that the Federation now knew its location.

"No. We abandoned Xenon after you and Avon were captured." She punched a series of buttons, locking in the automatic navigation system, then glanced up. "You look wretched. Do you want to shower? Sleep? Something to eat?"

"I want answers. Dayna, Servalan didn't let me go because she's given to altruism. She wants the rest of you, the ship, and Orac. She's undoubtedly following me."

Dayna was momentarily startled. "I didn't know she let you go. I assumed you had escaped." Her distressed frown swiftly mutated to a confident grin. "Well, it doesn't matter. As soon as we're clear of the system, I'll activate the stardrive. Let her try to follow us then."

Tarrant's head was pounding from fatigue. He closed his eyes and gulped in several deep breaths. "This wasn't one of your brighter ideas," he said. "How did you find me? This might all be a trap."

"We've gotten out of traps before. I couldn't abandon you, Tarrant. We're a team." Then Dayna was beside him, taking his arm and directing him to a sleep alcove. "You and Avon have to work out your problems," she said firmly.

Tarrant groaned. "He doesn't know or didn't approve of your coming after me," he guessed. "Oh, Dayna. Now we're both in trouble."

"Everything will be all right," she soothed, trying to force him onto the sleep platform.

"Can't sleep," Tarrant protested, shaking free of her grip. He lurched to the storage cabinet and found that his spare clothes were still there. "I'll clean up. I don't want to face my executioner smelling like a sewer rat."

* * *

Soolin had no trouble locating Avon. He was in the study, which he had now clearly established as his personal territory. He'd been there almost the entire time that Dayna had been gone, pouring over the computer files.

"We've heard from Dayna," she told him. "She found Tarrant. They'll be here within the hour."

Avon spun his chair about to face her. Not a hair was out of place. To judge by his suave and elegant appearance, his ordeal might have never happened; but Soolin knew better. She wondered whether he regretted his stubbornness about treatment now that a physical confrontation with his rapist was at hand.

"No doubt with half of Space Command at her heels," he said.

"She's not stupid and neither is Tarrant."

"Oh? Well, I suppose we should prepare a welcome for our prodigals." With calculated carefulness he rose from the chair. "I'm counting on you to keep an eye on Tarrant," he said as he strode into the corridor.

"A necessary precaution," Soolin agreed. She hurried after Avon, surprised that he could manage such a brisk stride. "I hope you aren't angry with Dayna. If we had told her the entire story, she wouldn't..."

"She would have still gone off with the ship and Orac, leaving us stranded. Dayna is very forgiving." He braked to a halt and spun about to face her, his teeth bared in the manner of a predatory animal. "I'm not."

"I would never have guessed," Soolin muttered. "What are you going to do?"

"First I want a few words with Dayna, and a private consultation with Orac. Then there is the little matter of Tarrant..."

* * *

Despite his determination to stay awake, Tarrant had slept most of the way to Kitran. To the best of his knowledge, nightmares hadn't plagued his rest. Perhaps knowing that his estrangement from Avon would soon be resolved, one way or the other, had cleared his obsessive fixation for the time being.

However, his relief at being temporarily dream-free seemed small compensation for the surge of dread that he experienced upon finding himself actually in Avon's presence once again. Tarrant shivered slightly, aware that both Soolin and Avon were armed and that neither of them were shy about using their weapons. He wasn't even certain how far Dayna would back him up. Since her own confrontation with Avon, conducted while he was ordered to wait on =Scorpio=, she seemed very subdued. And he could hardly expect any help or support from Vila.

In one respect, at least, the reunion with Avon was less difficult than he had anticipated. The man who faced him, impeccably groomed and in total control of the situation, was so utterly unlike Servalan's disheveled, pitiful captive that it was easy to think of him as a different person altogether. But there was nothing reassuring about his expression. This was an Avon Tarrant knew all too well: the cold- eyed fanatic who had nearly killed him on the way to Terminal. Perhaps this time he would finish the job.

Tarrant forced himself to meet Avon's eyes. He could feel a nervous muscle twitching in his jaw as he opened his mouth to speak. "We've had our differences," he began, "but you have to know that I would never have done =that= to you. Not without coercion."

"Of course you would say that."

"Why you..." Tarrant took a reflexive step forward before he halted himself. "You have quite an ego, Avon, if you think I would want you." But even as he spoke the words of denial, he knew that they were false. Remembering the dreams in which he had desired Avon very much indeed, Tarrant felt warmth rising to his cheeks. He shook his head, fighting both anger and embarrassment. Calm again, he asked, "What are you going to do to me?"

"Well now, that is the question." Avon's hand caressed the clipgun holstered at his side. He was all icy control. Tarrant found that far more frightening than hot fury.

Soolin's gunfighter instincts must have also sensed the thin edge of violence. In a gliding move she was at Avon's side. "We should check the veracity of his claim," she said in a voice as emotionless and detached as Avon's appearance.

There was a hair's-breadth pause, during which Tarrant's stomach spasmed painfully; then Avon nodded in agreement. "We should do that." He twitched an eyebrow in Soolin's direction. "You'll take care of it, won't you? I've already briefed Orac on what needs to be done."

Tarrant was grateful when Soolin took his arm and led him away. Suddenly he felt weak and limp, unable to muster the energy to set his feet in motion on his own. She brought him to what appeared to be a medical facility and positioned him on the edge of an examining table. It was when she started to attach sensors that he began to consider what was going to happen next.

Orac was perched on a wheeled table nearby. "Orac will confirm that I was conditioned," he said.

"I expect it will," she responded. "Why don't you lie back and try to rest while it conducts a preliminary examination." She pushed the computer closer, saying, "Orac, tell me when you're ready to begin."

Tarrant stretched flat, his muscles tensing as he anticipated reliving his grotesque manipulation yet again. How much longer would he be caught between two evils: his hideous memories or a fatal charge from Avon's gun?

*This arrangement is not satisfactory,* Orac announced moments later. *The subject is excessively agitated. To prevent the possibility of physical or mental damage, I insist that he be given a sedative and that an outside source monitor the procedure. I will be far too busy conducting the investigation to keep track of his well being.*

With a shudder, Tarrant realized that Orac hadn't identified him by name. As illogical as it was to assign emotion to a computer, he couldn't help but feel that Orac's sympathy was with Avon.

Soolin's voice penetrated Tarrant's disturbed musings. "What type of monitoring do you want me to do?"

*Not you. I would suggest Vila. The mental link necessary requires that both participants share a common background. Avon would normally be the best candidate; however, that is obviously impossible under these particular circumstances. Vila will be sufficient. Use a second set of cerebral sensors to establish the link.*

Soolin heaved a put-upon sigh. "Very well. I'll have to find Vila first." She pressed a medpatch to Tarrant's forehead before leaving on her search.

Tarrant was distressed that Vila would be witness to his perversion, but the drug soon soothed that anxiety. It filtered into his body, slowing his heart rate and easing the tautness in his chest. By the time Soolin breezed through the door, with Vila following reluctantly behind her, Tarrant was blanketed by a drug-induced serenity. He knew it was a sham of his true emotions, but he welcomed it all the same.

Vila glanced at Tarrant. "I wouldn't have come here if I were you, but I'm not sorry that you did. The fireworks should be entertaining, and it will keep Avon off my back."

"Over here, Vila." Soolin pointed to the second medcouch.

Vila settled onto it, grumbling, "Why me?"

"It was Orac's decision. Be still so that I can hook you up."

Vila was momentarily cooperative; then he shoved abruptly upright, pulling free of the sensor that Soolin had fixed to his temple. "Wait a minute. I remember when something like this happened before, with Jenna and Blake. This isn't going to hurt, is it?"

"Vila!" Soolin hissed, pushing him flat.

"All right. All right." A slow smile spread across his face. "This might be interesting, after all."

It was worse than Tarrant had imagined it would be. Orac dredged up all of his memories, even those that had been suppressed by Federation drugs and the conditioning process. He heard himself answer questions about the teleport, stardrive and Xenon base, and was appalled at the extent of his involuntary betrayal. After a period of blank nothingness, there was a barrage of jumbled voices as the urge to rape Avon was interwoven with his own ambivalent feelings for the man. That part wasn't quite clear, and Tarrant was just as glad.

Despite the sedative, Tarrant's heart lurched when his memories shifted again. He woke from a sleep to the brush of lips across his own. And he knew what would follow. On that thought, he was pulled into the whirlwind of the past.

In vividly realistic detail, Tarrant experienced once more the thrill of sexual conquest. He held Avon's bleeding body pinned against him as he thrust eagerly into the tight hollow that was his alone. With Servalan's help, he violated the helpless man again and again. When Avon was taken away, too damaged to be of any further amusement, he slept. He awoke to remorse, but it was too late. His escape attempt was thwarted when the mutoid gunned him down.

Tarrant returned to the present with a gasp.

"Orac decided that you need a break," Soolin said.

Vila was sitting up, pale faced, and appearing as dazed as Tarrant felt. "You really did it," he murmured. "Fucked Avon."

The sensors were detached. Tarrant checked that his trousers weren't wet with come-- the multiple orgasms had felt so real- - then climbed shakily to his feet. "I didn't want to do it," he finally said.

"That didn't stop you from enjoying it."

"Vila, enough!" Soolin pressed a glass into Tarrant's hand. "Drink this." When he looked askance at it, she added, "It's only water."

"Thank you." Tarrant sipped the water, concentrating on it and trying to obliterate the sharp memories that seemed branded into his brain. He was deeply ashamed and embarrassingly close to crying.

"Orac verified the conditioning," Soolin told him.

Tarrant nodded; his eyes remained downcast. There was still no guarantee that Avon would understand or forgive. "Are we finished then?" he asked.

"No. We need to review everything that happened while you were gone. Servalan might have instilled additional conditioning, and you wouldn't even be aware of it."

"I thought of that possibility. I couldn't understand why she let me go." Tarrant set the empty glass aside and managed a weak grin. "Let's get it over with."

* * *

<<When Tarrant came to, he found that he was naked once again, strapped down on what seemed to be a low, padded table. His legs were bent slightly and spread apart, held by restraints at the far end of the table that he could not quite see. His arms were extended at his sides, held just slightly away from the torso and secured at the upper arms and wrists, so that his upper body was largely immobilised, though he could still move his hips a bit.

Someone was fussing with his hair, fluffing his curls and arranging a band of some sort around his head. He looked up. It was Servalan, of course. She was smiling her evil smile.

"How lovely to see you awake again, Tarrant dear. But I owe you an apology. I promised you more fun with Avon, but I am sorry to say he is no longer available. So you and I will have to have our fun by ourselves.">>

So what the hell is she doing with him,<< thought Tarrant.>> Surely she doesn't mean-- no, he can't have been =that= badly hurt. Surely not. Could he possibly have escaped? Did the others rescue him? Will they rescue me? I wish they would hurry up and get here. I don't like her expression; it reminds me of the way she was looking when she pulled that gun. What is she up to now?

<<As if she had heard his silent question, Servalan began to explain. "You've seen interrogation machinery, haven't you, dear? Then perhaps you recognize this equipment as a variant model. Oh-- I suppose most of it is out of sight. Can you turn your head enough to look back? Yes, there, behind you. As I was saying, a slight variation on the standard model. You will find that in addition to direct stimulation of the pain centers, it stimulates certain other areas as well. Most interesting, really."

She pressed a button on a small hand- held control, and a wave of incredible pain shot through him. Suddenly it seemed that his body was plunged into flames. She removed her finger and he was instantly back to normal, gasping from the shock. Smiling at him, she repeated the action again, and again. His bound hands clawed the air and his body arched upward with each attack. As he lay panting between bouts, he realized, with horror and disgust, what the special modification had been: he was becoming sexually aroused. His body was completely out of his control.

"Charming," said Servalan, stroking his quivering balls. "I do so appreciate a truly passionate man."

"Did you do this to him?" Tarrant asked. He did not name Avon, but Servalan knew very well who was meant.

"No," she said regretfully, "I did not handle his interrogation personally. One must delegate. Only the standard pain induction was used on him. Are you jealous, darling? Don't be. You will experience everything that he did, and more. Well, perhaps not quite. I cannot at the moment arrange for you to be sexually abused by someone you had considered a friend, as well as a rival. But give me time. You see, Tarrant, you yourself are going to turn over the rest of your little gang to me. And when I have all of you, many new games will become possible. You've seen that I can make you do anything I please, Tarrant. Perhaps I will have you rape each of them in turn. Or turn them on you instead. I shall have to think about it."

"Why?" he asked hopelessly.

"Why not?"

Throughout her speech she had continued to toy with him. Now he found that he was completely erect. "Excellent," she said. "You will stay like this until I give you permission to come." She hit him with another jolt of pain, an extra long one this time. Then she set the control unit aside and picked up another device, a small metal object consisting of several connected rings. She fitted it around his cock and balls. Even when he raised his head as far as he could, he could not quite see what she was doing; but he could feel the touch of cold metal against his hot flesh.

The new instrument of torture had electronic controls as well. Servalan used them to tighten the metal ring unpleasantly around the base of his swollen cock and to crush his balls just to the point where pain began. She watched his face avidly as she did so.

"According to the sensors, this is as far as I can go without doing permanent damage," she told him. "And for the time being, I prefer to keep you as an intact male. Of course, I may change my mind later. But today I am going to hurt you in other ways."

She was fondling him all the while she spoke. Now that she had him fully erect and securely fixed in that condition, her play became rougher. She let him feel little digs from her nails on the tender tip of his cock, down the shaft, and around his balls. Her hands moved lower still. She drew one nail around the circumference of his anus, not quite hard enough to scratch. He tried to squirm away from her, but she followed his limited movements easily. Then she turned her finger sideways and pressed the pad firmly against the tight ring of muscle, not actually penetrating just yet. To his shame, Tarrant felt a tingle of excitement as she touched the sensitive spot, even though his constricted genitals were already throbbing with pain.

"Have you ever been fucked, Tarrant?" she asked. "I hope so, for your sake. But I suppose in the end it won't matter, after all. Whatever your limit may be, I am going to take you beyond it."

She was smearing a lubricant on her hand and on him. This time, when her finger returned to his ass, it was driven straight into him. He gasped sharply as he felt the stab of the nail, but once her finger was inside him, it was not so bad. Her hands were not so very large, after all; and once the first finger had gone into him, she was soon able to slip in a second, a third, and eventually a fourth. She fucked him tirelessly, moving her hand back and forth. As long as she kept her fingers straight there was little discomfort, but occasionally she would curl them slightly and let him feel the nails. He wondered how far she intended to go. If she wanted to she could hurt him very badly, even give him a terrible death, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop her.

"You are mine, Tarrant," she was murmuring. "You are completely open to me. I will prove to you that you are my possession, to be used just as I please." And with that, she thrust her entire hand into him.

It hurt. It hurt even more when she clenched her hand into a fist, scraping him with her nails in the process, and moved it about inside him. He struggled in his bonds but succeeded only in impaling himself further on her arm. Then she was using her other hand to fumble with the ring around his cock. She released it and reached for the controls of her pain-inducing device. The next thing he knew, he was arching up in response to the agony shooting through him, all the while still conscious of the monstrous presence inside him. Servalan pressed the button again and again, and suddenly he was convulsing in orgasm, the pain as intense as under different circumstances the pleasure might have been. He screamed and collapsed on the table.

Servalan withdrew her hand from him and washed herself fastidiously. She inspected her nails.

"No damage--" she said with a smile, "-- to my manicure. I do so hate broken nails."

She was still wearing her black evening gown, but now she slithered out of it. Leaving the garment on the floor like a discarded snakeskin, she walked proudly up toward the head of the table, savoring Tarrant's mesmerized gaze upon her magnificent body.

"Are you ready for round two?" she asked. "Not that it makes any difference, really; your body will perform whether you want it to or not."

Another series of shocks from the modified interrogation machine brought him erect once more.

"I have another new toy to try," she announced, stroking his face. She held an object before his eyes. It was a metal dildo, perhaps slightly larger than his own cock. She rubbed it against his cheek and he jerked his head away.

"You don't seem impressed," she said with false petulance, mocking him. "Watch carefully, now." She did something with the controls in the base of the device, and he stared as it expanded to several times its original size.>>

If she tries to use that on me, she'll kill me for sure, <<thought Tarrant.>> Maybe it's better that way-- then I can't betray the others to her. But what a ghastly way to go.

<<His expression must have made his feelings obvious, for his tormenter responded as if she could read his mind. "Don't worry, my darling. The controls are precisely calibrated, and I will be very, very careful with you. We two have a long future ahead of us."

He was still dilated from the fist- fucking, so it was easy for her to get the thing into him once she had returned it to its original size. There was a nasty dull aching that he thought must be the result of pressure against internal scratches, but he did not feel too badly stretched at first. She worked the dildo in and out of him and slowly, slowly expanded it, applying more lubricant as she did so. Gradually he began to feel unpleasantly full. He tried to relax and accommodate the ever-increasing bulk within him, but no sooner had he adjusted to one level of discomfort than a new stage would be reached.

Under the circumstances it was almost impossible for him to maintain an erection, but she shocked him back into shape whenever he began to falter. He found himself striving for a sense of sexual excitement. Shameful as it was to feel any pleasure at all in his own degradation, it was nevertheless preferable to the pain. As he was stretched further and further, he began to feel an odd choking sensation, as if the pressure inside him was somehow suffocating him. He struggled to breathe, no longer caring that his gasps sounded like sobs.

When the muscles at the rim of his anus were aching with strain, she stopped. She did something to the dildo itself, and to the controls of the neural induction machine as well.

"The controls are now linked," she told him. She held his cock in one hand and tugged at it gently. Another stab of pain from her diabolical machine assured its firmness. "According to the sensors, you have now been stretched to the very limit of your capacity. I will take you now, and I will make you come. And at the moment of your orgasm, the dildo will expand just one centimeter further. Only one centimeter, Tarrant, but it is one centimeter more than you can take. Your little asshole will be torn. It will be very painful."

He opened his mouth but could think of nothing to say. Instead he simply stared down the length of his body as she mounted him and began to ride up and down. He remembered that once that tight hotness gripping his cock had felt good to him, but there was nothing enjoyable about it now.

"Move," she ordered. He lay still, offering the only sign of defiance that he could. He knew what would happen, and it did. She used the torture machine to make him arch and buck under her; no matter that his body was jerking with pain and not with passion. She was excited by what she had done to him, and so she let the end come quickly. A final, automatic sequence was set. He was systematically forced into another painful orgasm; and just as she had promised, the final moment brought not only the artificially induced neurological pain he had experienced before, but also a horrible tearing sensation within him. He screamed aloud over and over as the doubled pains shot through him. But when he saw her expression of vindictive triumph, he fought to pull together the few remaining shreds of his self-control.

"Lick me clean," she said. "Lick your own come out of me."

She knelt over his face. He did as she asked, too weary and miserable to resist her any longer.

Servalan emitted satisfied noises as he performed his task. When he was quite finished, she swung her legs off the edge of the table and sauntered back to the other end to inspect her handiwork. She poked at the still-enormous dildo experimentally and smiled when he moaned. As she pulled the thing out of him, he clenched his teeth to keep from screaming again. It felt as if he were being ripped apart. Even when the barbaric device was completely out of him, the pain continued.

To his utter amazement, he felt the delicate touch of Servalan's tongue on the injured area. Was she trying, out of some perverse tenderness, to soothe the hurts that she herself had inflicted? No, he realized with disgust-- she was lapping his blood.

She stood up between his legs, so that he could see her clearly, and licked her lips obscenely. Then she held up the hand control of her machine. He knew what was coming.

"No," he begged, tears coming into his eyes as he felt himself losing the last vestiges of his self-respect. Something snapped inside his mind. "No, please, not again."

She smiled and said nothing at all as she brought him agonizingly erect once more. She held the tip of his penis firmly with the fingers of one hand, while with her other hand she used a single nail to claw a long scratch straight down the center of the delicate underside. With her tongue, she retraced the path of her fingernail, licking up the scratch. It hurt dreadfully, of course, but by now he had been hurt so much and so often that he only whimpered at this latest indignity.

She released her grip and stood again, staring down at him.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" she said. "The machinery can continue to induce erections as long as the penis remains sufficiently undamaged to function at all. But I am not at all sure how many consecutive induced orgasms the male nervous system can tolerate. It may be as few as a dozen; men are so fragile. Some day I shall test a subject to destruction. But you needn't worry about that for now, dear. I have other plans for you."

She resumed her gown as gracefully as she had discarded it and made minute adjustments to her toilette, checking her face in a small mirror. When she was once more the very model of an immaculate Commissioner, she turned to a communication panel near the door.

"Ready now," she said. "Send them in."

Shortly there was a knock at the door, and Servalan admitted a pair of mutoids.

"Check for damage," she ordered.

With impersonal efficiency, one of the mutoids thrust a slender rod into Tarrant's abused ass and held another cold metallic object against his abdomen. Seconds later, both devices were mercifully withdrawn.

"Hemorrhaging is still within acceptable parameters," the mutoid reported. "Treatment is recommended in the near future, but it is unlikely that a critical condition will develop for at least five to six hours."

"So he can still be safely used?"

"Yes, Madam Commissioner, for the time being." The creature's face was as expressionless as ever.

"Excellent. Give him to the men."

Tarrant felt an enormous sense of relief as the band that had held the wiring of the torture machine in place was removed from his head. The last erection had faded quickly, and he had been terrified that she was going to induce still another. Whatever might happen to him now, it seemed that at least he was going to escape Servalan and her unpredictable cruelties.

The two mutoids unstrapped first his legs, and then his arms. They pushed him up into a sitting position and tied his wrists behind his back. Then they took him by the upper arms and dragged him up to his feet. He staggered as they propelled him toward the door, but he found that with their support he was still able to walk.

"Three hours," said Servalan. "And tell them to be more careful this time. I was most displeased with the death of the last one."

"Yes, Madam," said the more articulate of the two mutoids. The other remained silent.

They half-pushed, half-dragged him through a maze of twisting hallways, some with modern lighting, others illuminated by the bizarre flickering of the archaic torches. Eventually he was taken through a metal door into a large room occupied by some half-dozen men in the black uniforms of Space Command. Two of them took hold of him as the mutoids stepped back.

"Here's our treat! It's about time," said one.

"Shut up, Garr," the man in the Section Leader's uniform said amiably. He turned to the mutoids. "How long do we get to keep him?"

"He's yours for three hours," said the mutoid. "And Madam says to be careful; she was displeased about the last one."

"Her own damn fault," Garr muttered. The Section Leader glared at him.

"Understood," said the Section Leader to the mutoids. "I'll see you here again in three hours." They saluted and left the room, closing the door behind them.

"Well, it =was= her fault," Garr argued. "He was torn to pieces already when we got him. What did she expect?"

"Enough," said the Section Leader. "No insubordination. You heard the bloodsucker: we're to be more careful with this one, that's all. Bend him over."

Tarrant was bent over at the waist and held firmly. The Section Leader spread his cheeks apart and inserted an exploratory finger. Tarrant could not help groaning.

"Oh, yes, she did a job on you," said the Section Leader. "Those nails are wicked. Take it as a compliment, boy; she wouldn't have hurt you so bad if you weren't so pretty." The finger was withdrawn. "Put him on his knees," the Section Leader ordered. The men holding Tarrant pushed him down and turned him around. He knelt before the Section Leader, looking up at him.

"Boy, you've been hurt," the man said, staring down at Tarrant. "And it's not over yet. You realize that every one of us is going to have you-- more than once, if I know these fellows." (There were murmurs of pleased agreement.) "You can take us in your ass, or you can take us in your mouth; but for that second option, we'll need some cooperation from you. In case you're still feeling stubborn, I'd just like to point out that the more accommodating you are with your mouth, the more damage you spare your ass. And you're pretty torn up there already. How about it, then?"

What did it matter? At this point Tarrant hardly cared what happened to him.

"Whatever you want," he said dully.

"That's what I like to hear," said the Section Leader. "Right, we'll do you two at a time, then. More efficient, since we've only got so much time."

Tied as he was, he could not balance easily; but rough hands held him in place as they used him. After everyone had had a turn, the more energetic among them enjoyed a second round, pushing him into a variety of odd positions. He let them do whatever they pleased with him, not actively cooperating but not resisting in any way.

When they had exhausted all the more obvious possibilities and were casting about for new ideas, someone suggested that it would be interesting to make him come, too. The general opinion was that he was already in such bad condition that it couldn't be done; but one of them had heard somewhere that strangulation would give a man a hard- on, regardless of circumstances. They experimented, choking him first with their hands and then with a belt wrapped around his neck. Nothing worked, and the Section Leader, looking a bit nervous, eventually made them stop.

Then someone else suggested that whipping the buttocks might do the trick. Tarrant was bent over once again and lashed until his cheeks were burning hot, with the same belt that had been used to choke him. It had no effect on his own limp organ, but the sight of his reddened ass incited several of the men to fuck him again.

Tarrant thought with bitter irony that thanks to Servalan, he now knew a good deal more about the possible abuses of male physiology than her own henchmen did. He was extremely glad that, although she allowed her men to play with her human toys, she withheld the use of the mechanical ones.

By now he was becoming accustomed to repeated, multiple rape. At least nothing was being used on him but other human bodies, and so the possibilities were distinctly limited. But he was beginning to feel very sick physically. Not only his rectum, but his entire abdomen ached horribly; he suspected that there was internal bleeding. They left him alone at last, and he curled into a fetal position on the floor, his hands still tied behind his back, trying somehow to alleviate the pain in his belly.

When the mutoids came for him, he was barely conscious, clearly unable to walk. They were obliged to carry him, one holding his shoulders and one his legs-- just the way they had carried Avon away, Tarrant thought dimly. I suppose I deserved this, for what I did to him.

No, damn it. Avon would have killed me cleanly. He wouldn't have made me suffer like this.

Before the mutoids were halfway down the first corridor, Tarrant had passed out.>>

* * *

"Soolin, I'm gonna be sick."

Vila's tone of voice made it very clear that he was not joking. Soolin grabbed a basin and held it for him as he retched miserably.

"Vila, what happened?" She had watched with mounting anxiety while the two of them twitched and moaned in obvious distress, but she'd counted on Orac to stop the sequence if necessary. Now she wondered whether that had been the right decision. Vila seemed extremely upset.

"Orac, is Tarrant still under?" Vila demanded, with a sudden, unexpected burst of authority. Ignoring Soolin's question, he looked in Tarrant's direction instead. Before the computer could reply, he continued, "Good. Keep him that way, please. And if you can bury that bit of filth back where it came from, do it. Nobody should have to live with a memory like that."

*You may be right,* Orac conceded, to Soolin's extreme surprise. *The patient's mental condition is highly unstable at present. Under the circumstances, the revival of a traumatic memory would be inadvisable. I can replace the memory block for the time being.*

"Do it," said Vila. He turned to Soolin. "Traumatic is putting it mildly." His voice began to shake as the briefly authoritative tone was replaced by an especially pathetic version of his usual whine. "What a thing to put me through. I don't know how much I'm going to have to drink to forget it. Soolin, it was horrible."

"What happened?" she repeated. "Vila, you're all right. It's over. And it never really happened to you, anyway. Tell me about it."

"You'll have to ask Orac," he said. "I don't even want to think about it. Let's just put it this way: I never would have thought that a gangbang by Federation scum would come as a relief. But it wasn't bad at all, compared to what she'd already done to him. That woman is a monster."

"No surprise there," said Soolin grimly. But Vila was still staring into the distance, looking as unhappy as she'd ever seen him.

"Soolin, it's probably a good thing we didn't find him at that point. I don't think he could have survived what she did to him without the medical technology of a Federation base. Can I go now? I need a drink."

"Just a minute. Orac, is there anything else we need to check?"

*The patient had no further conscious experience with Federation personnel. His injuries were healed and his memories of the final torture session were blocked while he was unconscious. He was then released, alone on a pursuit ship, and eventually made his way to the planet where Dayna found him.

*There is no evidence of additional conditioning. There was, however, an attempt to play on his guilt over his own crime, by means of a taped message placed in the ship with him. It is unclear whether the intention was simply to torment him, or whether rendering him mentally unstable was part of some broader scheme.*

"How 'unstable' is he?" Soolin asked. "Is he dangerous to us? What's causing it?"

*As long as he is not put in a position of responsibility, he is dangerous only to himself. His exhaustion and lack of judgement are the direct result of sleep deprivation. He has deliberately avoided sleeping because he tends to experience dreams that are extremely unpleasant to him.*

"What kind of dreams?"

*Primarily reenactments of his rape of Avon, combined with partial memories of what was done to him. He worries now that he may have done some of that to Avon as well, or at least intended to do it, which he considers nearly as bad.*

"What a mess," said Vila. "Soolin, I've had enough. You and Orac sort it out; I can't take any more." His voice was still shaky, but now there was a familiar undertone of stubbornness as well.

Soolin motioned that he could leave, saying, "Get your drink. One. I'll need you when I tell Avon."

"But--"

"Be back in ten minutes," she insisted.

Vila stood up, pulling off the few sensors that had not already come loose, and moved toward the door. Then he turned back to look at Tarrant's sleeping form. "Let him stay that way for a while. It sounds like he needs the rest, poor bastard. Avon may not know it yet, but I'd say he's had his revenge already."

By the time Orac had summarized Tarrant's ordeal, Soolin decided that Vila probably deserved to get good and roaring drunk, but not until after their meeting with Avon.

When he returned, she asked, "Are you all right?"

"No." He collapsed into a chair and gestured to where Tarrant reclined on the treatment table. The pilot's waxen face was frozen in a strained mask. "What about him?"

"Orac and I were just discussing that. If the block is removed, he's going to recall everything."

"That could be nasty."

"It's nasty now," Soolin argued. "The dreams aren't going to stop for long. He remembers just enough that it's driving him crazy. Besides, Tarrant has a right to know what happened to him. Orac, what have you decided?"

*The human mind is exceedingly fragile,* Orac said. *Between its inherent illogic and the perturbations introduced by Servalan's staff, I have determined that Tarrant requires therapy before he will be able to cope with the truth. Therapy that only Avon can provide.*

"Only Avon," Soolin echoed, knowing that Avon might not be willing to help Tarrant. "What type of therapy?"

*That information is best restricted to Avon.*

"I suppose it's time to see Avon then," Soolin said.

Vila rubbed his hands nervously against his thighs. "Do I have to go? Soolin, I can't... not again..."

"Yes, you can." She handed him a glass of adrenaline and soma that she'd prepared for him while he was gone. "Drink this first. It should help."

To her surprise, after one swallow Vila set it aside. He stood and paced around Tarrant. "I thought what he did to Avon was bad enough. But Servalan, she was... was disgusting. And she was really the source for everything that happened to both of them." He sucked in a shuddered breath. "It makes me glad I'm a Delta and beneath her notice."

"They survived," Soolin said brusquely.

For a brief moment, Vila appeared shocked by her callousness; then he shrugged. "Knowing Avon and Tarrant, they might have preferred a quick, clean death. That at least has some dignity. You don't understand how Alphas think, Soolin. Necessary death is regrettable, but nothing more. Nothing more," he repeated, his flow of speech slowing and his eyes taking on a faraway look.

Soolin watched, bemused, as Vila downed the remainder of his adrenaline and soma in a series of long gulps. When he finished, he swiped at his mouth, then said in a hushed tone, "There's something I haven't wanted to think about. I wanted to stay angry and outraged. When someone tries to kill you, you tend to take it personally, even if it wasn't personal."

Soolin thought of Avon, deliberately prolonging his own pain and anger. It occurred to her that Vila might have more in common with the Alphas than he realized. But she had no idea what he himself was so angry about. Who had tried to kill him?

"Vila, you're talking in riddles."

"No riddles; maybe answers." He twitched his eyes back to the present and focused them on Soolin. "Maybe Avon has a conscience, after all. And now he's seen what it's like to get the short end of the stick." Vila's eyes drifted to Tarrant. "Both of them have."

If there was a point to Vila's rambling, Soolin had missed it. And if it had simply been an attempt to distract her, it hadn't worked. Gripping his upper arm, she guided him to the door.

Soolin reported the details of Orac's probe to Avon in the same manner that she would have read a supply list. She had long ago learned that remaining emotionally detached was an important survival skill.

"That's an interesting story." Avon tapped thoughtfully on the arm of his chair for several seconds before asking, "Tell me, Orac, is it the truth or merely something planted by Servalan to confuse the issue further?"

*I have stated what was truth and what was conditioning,* Orac replied irritably. *However, if you insist on doubting me, a thorough medical examination will show evidence of recent reconstructive surgery. The scarring is subtle and largely internal but nevertheless detectable.*

Vila, who had been standing silently to one side, grimaced and blurted out, "You don't need to subject him to an examination. It happened, Avon. I had to go through it, go through everything. It was ugly and it was humiliating. You were both her victims. If you're looking for someone to blame and to punish, that's Servalan." He shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, then stood up straight. "When you decide to go for her, I'd like to help."

Avon's eyes slid his way. "Volunteering?"

Vila held his ground. "I am. I think it's time for all of us to let bygones be bygones and remember who our real enemy is."

"Well, I shall remember that." Avon uncrossed his legs and stood. "There is a space command vessel on a direct heading for this planet."

"What!" Vila exclaimed, on top of Soolin's, "Perhaps you had better explain."

"I thought I just did. Servalan is coming to us, sparing us the chore of finding her." He steepled his hands and cocked his head slightly to one side. "I think the occasion merits a very special type of celebration."

"How long before she arrives?" Soolin demanded.

"Two point six hours. There is plenty of time for me to brief you on my plans. Get Dayna. I'll meet you in the control room as soon as I've finished here."

"Very well," Soolin said, controlling an urge to rebuke Avon for withholding the information about Servalan. There wasn't time for that now. But she made her point, nonetheless. "I plan to tell Dayna everything; she has a right to be informed. We all do."

Just before the door swished closed behind her and Vila, Soolin heard Avon ask, "Now then, Orac, why don't you explain this therapy that you have in mind for Tarrant."

* * *

The two women faced each other once again across the dining table.

"Soolin, =why= didn't you tell me everything sooner!" Dayna exclaimed. To Soolin's relief, she seemed more hurt than angry.

"I'm sorry," Soolin repeated. "When Orac told me, I ordered it to keep the information confidential because I was trying to protect Avon's privacy. I thought that the more people knew, the worse it would be for him. But Vila guessed anyway, and that left only you. I couldn't think how to tell you, or whether I should. I was wrong; you had every right to know."

"And so I ran off after Tarrant without any idea what had really happened," Dayna said regretfully. She shook her head and buried it briefly in her hands, then looked up at Soolin again. "No wonder he didn't want to come with me."

"I thought there was a good chance Avon would shoot Tarrant on sight," Soolin admitted. She didn't mention that she had been stressed enough to make sarcastic jokes about it. "But he didn't, so maybe there's hope. At least we know now that what happened wasn't Tarrant's fault. What she did to him was just as bad. Maybe the two of them can help each other get over it; Orac apparently has some kind of therapy planned. And even Vila seems sympathetic now. He's more willing to cooperate with Avon than he's been in some time. It may work out for the best after all."

"If we survive Servalan's visit, that is," said Dayna with uncharacteristic pessimism. "And that's my fault, too. Tarrant tried to warn me, but he was so confused that I wouldn't listen to him. I must have led her straight here. I feel so foolish."

Soolin hardly knew what to say. She'd been prepared to fend off Dayna's well- justified anger at having been kept in the dark, but this self-recrimination took her by surprise. Maybe action would snap Dayna out of it.

"We'll get through this the way we have through everything else," Soolin stated firmly. "And we'll make that bitch pay for what she did to both of them. Avon has a plan. We're to meet him in the control room. Let's go there now and check the base's defenses again. I'd like your help in going over the weapons systems."

* * *

When Tarrant woke, his last memory was of sinking into Orac's induced trance. That couldn't be right. He should be able to recall the substance of the probe. As fast as that perplexity brushed through his mind, a small voice warned him that he didn't want to remember. There was a lingering sense of corruption and wickedness, insubstantial tendrils that lurked just out of reach. They teased at him, but when he tried to grasp their knowledge, they dissolved in tiny bursts of hideous laughter.

A coldness flashed through Tarrant even as sweat soaked his brow. Shoving himself up onto his elbows, he looked around and saw that he was alone in the room. He hopped from the treatment table, allowed a moment to catch his balance, and then went in search of answers.

The main room was empty except for Orac. Tarrant could hardly believe his luck. There was no better source for the information that he sought than the temperamental computer. "Orac, there's a problem," he began in the steadiest voice he could manage. "I don't remember what happened during the second part of your inquest."

*That is correct.*

"Why don't I remember? Did Servalan instill additional conditioning that makes me a danger to the others?"

*There was no additional conditioning,* Orac revealed.

<<Then what don't I remember?>> Tarrant wondered. "Orac, tell me exactly what you learned during the second session."

*I must advise you to reconsider that request. The amount of trauma involved would...*

"That's enough, Orac! You have work to do."

Tarrant turned slowly to face Avon, and said the first thing that came to mind. "Servalan wanted me to find you." He curled his lips in a nervous imitation of a smile. "She suggested that I shoot you on sight, but I don't believe I'm in the mood."

"Nor do you have a gun."

"Yes, well... I still could be a threat to you. She wouldn't have released me if she didn't have some devious plan in mind."

Avon strolled closer. "As Orac would say, that is a certainty."

"Perhaps I should leave then."

"Do you think I will allow you to simply walk out of here, after what you did?"

"I don't know what to think. I don't expect you to forgive me." Tarrant sighed and ruffled his hands through his hair. "Avon, just get it over with, whatever punishment you've decided I deserve. I really don't care about my own fate anymore; I just want the rest of you to be safe."

"A pretty speech, but if it was meant to elicit sympathy, it didn't work."

"You haven't changed. You are as impossible as ever."

"Despite your best effort to break me."

"Not my effort," Tarrant said quietly. He sat on the edge of the nearest chair and stared hard at the floor. "I'm quite confused. I don't know what feelings are mine and what was forced on me. But it is best that I leave. If nothing else, you won't have me about to remind you of what happened."

"It is hard for me to believe that you have my welfare in mind. The conditioning built on intrinsic emotions."

"Yes, it did," Tarrant whispered, thinking about the emotions that Avon wasn't referring to, the ones that produced dreams of sweet seduction.

"What are you mumbling about?"

With difficulty, Tarrant raised his head and smiled. "Servalan did us a favor; she showed us that life together is impossible. You would think two bright Alphas could have reached that conclusion on their own."

"You appear terribly anxious to distance yourself from me."

This time the grin that widened Tarrant's lips was genuine. "Wouldn't you feel the same in my circumstances?"

Avon's mood actually softened at that. "No doubt. However, we shall have to postpone continuation of this conversation until later. There is something I have to tell you. Servalan..."

"Avon!" Soolin rushed into the room. "We've been checking the defense systems. There's a problem; a mechanical one, according to the computer."

After glancing briefly at the wall chrono, Avon swore, "Damn."

"What's going on?" Tarrant asked.

Avon shoved a pill into his hand. "Take that. I've no time to explain." Then he grabbed Orac and hurried out with Soolin.

* * *

Servalan waited until her chief mutoid announced it was safe before strolling into the room where her captives were held at gunpoint. The four of them-- Avon, Soolin, Dayna, and Tarrant-- were lined in a pretty row. There was no sign of Vila, but she dismissed that as unimportant. He was the least dangerous of the group, and two of her mutoids were even now combing the base in search of him.

"Avon," she intoned in her throatiest and most seductive voice, "how good it is to see you again." Her gaze shifted to the other end of the assembled rebels. "Tarrant, this is a surprise, to find you looking so well. Avon must be slipping."

"On the contrary," Avon retorted. "You are the one who is slipping, Madame Commissioner."

His arrogance coursed through Servalan like a painful jolt of electricity. "I think you need a few more lessons in humility, Avon. You are obviously a very slow learner."

"But not stupid. Do you think I would have sat in wait for you, if I didn't want you here?"

"Save your tricks for a more gullible audience," she said. "There is no possible way you could have detected the tracer. It is the product of a top-secret Federation project, using entirely new technology."

"I did not need to find your homing device to know that you had Tarrant on a very short leash," he said, smiling ever so slightly.

For a second panic flared through Servalan. Then she took stock of the situation and returned Avon's smile. "Apparently that knowledge wasn't enough. It appears that I have the upper hand." She scanned the ranks of armed mutoids. "I count seven guns to none. You were never one to play against such unfavorable odds."

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"Oh, they can indeed," she agreed. "Take sweet Tarrant, for instance. He looks far too composed." To her delight, Avon flinched. She continued this promising line of attack. "I hardly expected to find both of you still alive. And then, aside from any little personal difficulties with you, there's the fact that the others abandoned him to his fate when they recovered you. How remarkably unresentful the dear boy is."

Out of the corner of her eye, Servalan could see that Soolin was physically restraining Dayna from attacking, while Tarrant appeared confused and uneasy. The sideshow was mildly entertaining, but Avon continued to be her primary amusement. Servalan studied his reactions and drew her own conclusions.

"You haven't told him!" she crowed. "He doesn't know yet what happened to him, but you do, don't you." Avon's expression confirmed her guess. "Are you jealous, Avon, of the special attention that he received?"

Carefully allowing a clear line of fire for her guards, she sauntered closer, to where she could stroke his cheek. "I promise, my dear, that I'll extend the same hospitality to you that I showed Tarrant. I wonder whether you can take as much as he did? We shall find out."

"Soolin, let go of me," Dayna demanded.

"Not yet," said the blonde woman. "Wait." Then her tone changed to one of caustic bitterness. "I thought I had seen the heights of depravity, Servalan, but you've managed to surpass the worst that the galaxy has to offer. You are unique."

Servalan maintained eye contact with Avon as she answered. "How perceptive of you to realize that. For a little whore with a talent for guns, you are brighter than I would have expected."

"As are we all," said Avon steadily. "And you are hardly one to be calling names."

Backing away to a safe distance, Servalan remonstrated, "But I never demand recompense for =my= services. All pleasure is freely given, as you well know. It's rather generous of me when you consider how expensive some of my toys," she darted a glance to Tarrant, "can be."

Tarrant's hands were rubbing at the sides of his head. "Avon, what is she talking about?" he asked in a plaintive voice.

"Tarrant darling, I'm explaining how costly it was to program you. It took years of research to develop those techniques. But it was worth it. You turned Avon into a whimpering vassal. Don't you remember how he pleaded for mercy as you shoved your fine big cock up his pompous ass?" Avon's eyes narrowed and his lips drew back from his teeth in the beginning of a snarl. " 'Tarrant, no, stop it,'" Servalan mimicked viciously.

His hands clenched into fists, Avon took a step toward her. Exhilarated, she continued her taunts. "Or was he really begging for more? The fine line between pain and pleasure can be difficult to distinguish." Once again she addressed her main enemy directly. "Avon, I think you must have enjoyed it after all. Why else did you go back on your promise to kill him?"

"Because... I am going to kill =you=," said Avon, and rushed her.

In a purely reflexive move, Servalan grasped the small gun in the concealed pocket of her gown, pulled it free, and aimed. As her finger tightened on the trigger, a blur lunged into Avon, knocking him down. Servalan just had time to realize that her charge had hit Tarrant instead of Avon when a monstrous pain thudded into her back.

* * *

Even before all hell broke loose, Soolin was moving and could sense Dayna doing the same. Soolin launched herself at the nearest mutoid, going in low to avoid the barrage of fire that was already pouring from the creature's gun. Despite the force of her attack, the enhanced strength of the mutoid allowed it to hold onto the weapon. Soolin had to dart for cover. Pinned down, she could see that Dayna was sprawled in the middle of the room, having been even less successful with her attempted assault. Over to one side, Vila was another ungainly heap, in the same spot from which he had shot Servalan. Only Avon was providing any resistance, firing Servalan's gun from behind an overturned table.

One of the mutoids took off for the exit, Servalan's bloody body cradled in its arms. That didn't shorten the odds nearly enough, especially since two more mutoids had burst out of a side passage, turning things from bad to lethal. Calculations for survival flashed through Soolin's mind, and she didn't like the answers she was getting. The situation appeared desperate enough to justify a suicidal run for the sleep wing where she could arm herself. Maintaining her crouched position, she rocked on the balls of her feet, preparing momentum for her run, when she noticed that the mutoids' movements were slowing. They appeared lethargic. Then, like a clumping of disconnected yet coordinated dominoes, they collapsed.

After a period of silence during which Soolin remained cautiously still, Vila's voice rattled through the room. "It took that soporific gas long enough to work. I was beginning to think all of them had taken the same antidote we did."

"It took you long enough to release it," Avon said.

"The valve fittings were corroded. Those things need regular maintenance, y'know."

"Let us see if you can be more competent when you check where that other mutoid went with Servalan."

"Me!"

"You had volunteered to help bring her to justice. And you don't appear to be hurt."

"I ducked." Vila tightened his hold on his gun and left the room, muttering, "I shot her. You'd think that would be enough."

Soolin brandished the gun that she had retrieved. "Should I go with him?"

"No. If they are where he can find them, they will be unconscious." Avon moved from where he had been crouched beside Dayna to stand over Tarrant. "You had better see to him. Dead pilots are fairly useless."

"And Dayna?" Soolin was surprised to hear a slight catch in her voice.

"She's only stunned. Servalan must have wanted to take us alive. She hadn't considered that she would be driven to using her own gun."

"To Tarrant's misfortune." Soolin bent over the fallen man. Blood was soaking through his right trouser leg. After a brief examination, she said, "He appears to have taken multiple stuns. That may be why he's unconscious, though the blaster burn on his thigh is serious enough. Nothing fatal. I'll get a medkit."

"Be quick. We may have to leave in a hurry."

"One question first. Why did you go for Servalan? I thought the plan was to stall her until Vila could flood the base with gas."

"Yes, well, I was beginning to doubt Vila's ability to accomplish that task... and..."

"And what?"

"There was a twelve percent possibility that the gas would not work on mutoids. I wanted Servalan dead."

"That's wonderful," Soolin expostulated. "I don't know whether to kill you for risking my life or to be cheered by the fact that you must be human after all, for revenge to be so important to you."

* * *

The corridors of the underwater habitat twisted oddly. Rounded architectural shapes had been the fashion in interior design when the famous weapons developer Hal Mellanby had fled Earth with his infant daughter two decades ago. His luxurious private spacecraft, now submerged under the sea of the savage planet Sarran, was serving as another temporary bolthole for the survivors of Xenon and Kitran-- a haven in which to heal their wounds and gather the strength to continue their fight.

Soolin could hear Avon's voice even before she turned the last serpentine corner into the room where he was discussing something with Orac. She hesitated, reluctant to eavesdrop but thinking it better to wait for a break in their serious-sounding conversation before she interrupted.

"I understand the mechanics of your proposal," Avon was saying. "It is its therapeutic value that I question. I do not believe I can go along with it."

*I can only present information," Orac replied haughtily. *I cannot compel you to accept my advice. However, I would ask you to consider the true motives behind your objections. You do not doubt that the therapy would produce successful results; you are afraid of the process itself. That is one of the impairments that the therapy is designed to correct. It will heal you as well as Tarrant.*

Avon's voice sounded angry. "There must be an acceptable alternative solution to the problem."

*It is the only option available that will restore the cohesiveness of the group. Furthermore, I cannot guarantee Tarrant's continued sanity or your full psychological recovery without it. What I have proposed is not unreasonable. In fact, as I have already explained to you, for many humans it is a very normal, not to mention pleasurable, activity. This behavior is unlike you, Avon; you do not ordinarily require repeated explanations of simple matters. You are letting irrational fear guide you.*

"I am not--"

It seemed a good time to interrupt.

"Avon," said Soolin loudly as she entered the room, "I've finished a check of the hatches. The base is secure and the detector alarms set. If you don't need anything else, I'm going to bed. It's been a long day making the place habitable again."

He appeared flustered. "I thought you were already settled in for the night."

"Everyone else is. Dayna was exhausted. It's a bit upsetting for her to be back here."

<<But at least we didn't have to bury her father,>> Soolin thought. She had apparently been the only one who'd considered that possibility, based on the story Dayna had told of her hasty departure from Sarran. When they arrived on Sarran, Soolin had insisted on going down first with Vila-- the only able-bodied male among them at this point-- while Dayna waited on the ship. But they found nothing; Servalan must somehow have disposed of the body, perhaps vaporizing it with one of Mellanby's own weapons, while she waited to be rescued by the Federation.

Soolin continued her account of the crew. "It won't surprise you to hear that Vila's found the liquor cache already." She shrugged. "He deserves a few hours of peaceful drinking."

"There's nothing else that I need." Avon waved his hand in dismissal. Soolin was turning away when he said, "Wait. Tarrant. Orac reports that he is doing well."

"That's right. He's resting comfortably." Soolin paused, biting her lower lip, then added, "It's his mental health that has me concerned. Avon, about the block. Tarrant has the right to know everything."

"Orac has devised a way to reduce the trauma that is inevitable when his memories are restored." Avon's body shifted, tensing, causing him to grimace slightly in pain. "I'll take care of the matter."

Apparently Avon intended to go along with Orac's prescribed therapy, albeit reluctantly. Soolin suppressed a small smile of relief, and found that she wanted to do something for Avon in return. "Your back," she began, "I can tell it's still bothering you. One therapy session should complete the healing. We could do it now. I'm not that tired."

Avon nodded slowly. "Perhaps that would be best." His eyes were distant, and possibly sad as well. There was a vulnerability about him that Soolin was almost embarrassed to have witnessed. Then he said something inexplicable, and Soolin thought perhaps he was talking more to himself than to her. "Vila forgave me worse."

* * *

Except for a lingering malaise that had nothing to do with his wound, Tarrant didn't feel too bad... physically. The anaesthetic pad applied directly to the injury controlled most of the pain. He was still aware of it; but it was no more than a slight irritation, the type one might imagine could be eradicated by scratching or rubbing. However, to do either could very well start it bleeding again, so Tarrant carefully contained the urge.

Mentally he was exhausted, his mind continuously seesawing between the recent past that haunted him and the future that stretched bleak and alone.

He almost wished he had allowed Dayna to administer the sedative that the medical computer had recommended. The alternate treatment-- a back massage-- had only temporarily relaxed him. He appreciated Dayna's kindness in thinking of him while she herself was in obvious distress from the memories aroused by the return to the childhood home that she had left in such traumatic circumstances. But he was still so tense that even the serenity of his environment failed to soothe him.

Outside the window wall in Tarrant's quarters, twilight bathed the sea in a murky, green tranquility. Attracted to the glow lamps that were starting to blink on, a school of small fish sailed by, swaying in perfect formation on the undulating currents. Untouched by his calm surroundings, Tarrant continued to fret. The Sarran medical equipment was adequate but dated. He had patiently accepted that it was going to take a half dozen sessions with the regenerator to heal his leg. But the necessary recovery time between therapies was grating on his nerves. Pleased as he was to be back among friends, he knew that he had to leave as soon as possible.

The whispery squeal of the door sliding open promised a diversion to his brooding. Tarrant was momentarily cheered as he turned his head, expecting to see one of the women. Avon walked in, and his heart grew heavy again.

"How are you feeling?" Avon asked.

Knowing that Avon hadn't come here for a detailed medical report, Tarrant answered with a simple, "Fine. And you?"

Avon rolled his shoulders, as if testing some physical response, before replying. "I am also fine, now." He walked over to the expanse of glass and stared out at the sea, rapidly growing black beyond the luminescence from the base lighting.

It was typical of Avon to invade one's private space, then to ignore his host. Tarrant didn't allow himself to grow annoyed; he was simply too glad to have company, any company. All too soon now he would be on his own once again.

"Any word on Servalan?" he inquired.

"Her ship is proceeding on a heading that will take it to the Darlon sector. Orac is monitoring the ship continuously, but there have been no recent transmissions, either ingoing or outgoing, to provide any further information."

"So we still don't know if she is alive?"

"I would have told you immediately if we knew."

"You should have left me on Kitran," said Tarrant. He had been unconscious when they evacuated Kitran, only starting to come around as they approached Sarran. Now, after two days of recuperation on Sarran, he was able to think more clearly about his situation, unpromising as it was. "You realize that if she's still alive, then she may still be able to trace me. I can't risk leading her to you again."

"No fear of that," said Avon. "Orac detected anomalies in your biochemistry and trace elements in your blood at the time we first recovered you that had to be the result of an ingested tracer. Everything is now back to normal, strongly suggesting that the tracer is no longer functioning."

"Only suggesting," Tarrant objected, not allowing himself to hope for too much. "We still don't know. I'd like to be certain."

"Actually, Orac has taken the investigation further than that. By extrapolating known data, it has reconstructed a computer model of the tracer and how it functioned. Its short-term capability has most definitely expired."

"I'm very glad to hear it," said Tarrant sincerely, "but it doesn't change my plans. You know why I can't stay, Avon. I'll leave as soon as I can, and then it will all be over."

"It will not. You cannot run from your own experiences-- as I should know. I have need of a skilled pilot, and I refuse to allow =her= machinations to deprive me of your services."

Throughout their conversation Avon had been avoiding Tarrant's eyes, staring out instead at the world beyond the windowpane. Now he turned to face him, twining his fingers together with uncharacteristic nervousness as he said, "The time has come, Tarrant, to settle matters between us."

Tarrant didn't feel threatened by Avon's words, not even when the tech walked over and activated the door lock. He had spoken with Avon once since the confrontation with Servalan, on the previous day when he was being settled into his quarters on Sarran. Though he hadn't said it in so many words, Avon had apparently accepted Tarrant's possibly lifesaving shove as partial recompense for the rapes. At any rate, Avon's voice no longer hovered in the killing range.

There was only one other end to reach, and it was necessarily delayed by the prolonged medical treatment.

"I'll be leaving as soon as I'm mobile," Tarrant repeated. "I think it's better that you find another pilot."

"I think not," said Avon. "I doubt that you would survive long on your own, and now that I have decided not to kill you myself, I am not inclined to let anyone else do so either. I want you alive." Somehow Tarrant did not find that statement at all reassuring. Avon moved closer to him.

"Orac has analyzed your condition and has concluded that there is only one solution to the problem. This will be settled in the only way that it can be. I like it no better than you do, but we will do what must be done." Avon sat down on the edge of the bed, very close to Tarrant, and bent over the pilot until their faces were inches apart. He was not quite touching him, but the nature of his intentions was all too clear.

Tarrant shrank back against the pillows, holding his hands up to ward off Avon. "This is crazy," he argued. "I can't believe that you'd even consider... Or that Orac would suggest... It's a joke," Tarrant decided with a wash of shame. Orac had told Avon about his erotic dreams, and the older man was taunting him.

"You are babbling," Avon said. "While I had expected this to take you by surprise, I had hoped that you would react with more poise. Your behavior is pathetically reminiscent of a skittish schoolgirl."

"You're serious," Tarrant whispered, not as relieved by that realization as he should have been.

His body was beginning to respond automatically to Avon's proximity, but he did not dare allow his twisted passions to be unleashed. He fought for control.

"Avon, no, we can't. I don't know what I might do. The last thing I want is to-- to hurt you."

"Hardly a reasonable fear under the circumstances," said Avon, gesturing at Tarrant's injured leg. He gave Tarrant a slightly sinister smile. "I assure you that you will do nothing to me that I do not permit and encourage." He ran a hand lightly through Tarrant's hair, studying him intensely. Tarrant felt his whole body stiffen with apprehension at the touch.

"You fool," said Avon, but he said it gently, almost affectionately. "Your fears are misplaced, Tarrant. Tell me, right now, what you are afraid of."

"I'm afraid of hurting y--" Tarrant cut off, puzzled, as he examined his feelings more closely. "No, that isn't quite right. I'm also afraid that you'll hurt me. But that doesn't make sense. Even if you were still determined to punish me, you wouldn't choose rape."

"That's correct."

"You knew that I was afraid of you. How? I didn't even know it."

"Orac has told me everything that was done to you. Everything," Avon repeated with an odd emphasis. "I know about the dreams. Tarrant, you were not dreaming of anything you actually wanted to do to me. You were dreaming, in distorted images, of what had been done to you-- by Servalan. Yes. She used you in the ways that you recall, then healed your body and wiped your memory. Your conscious mind remembers only what you did to me; but on the subconscious level, which is accessible to Orac, you remember what she did to you as well. You have confused the two."

It made sense. If that were what had happened, then many of his conflicting emotions could be explained. But explaining them did not make them go away. Feeling ill, Tarrant said, "I need to be alone, to sort this out."

"Orac has recommended otherwise." Avon's voice was firm.

"Don't I have any say in the matter? I... I feel like I'm being manipulated again."

Avon put a finger to Tarrant's lips. "You are," he agreed, "but it is for your benefit this time. Trust me."

Despite the genuine compassion evident in Avon's persuasive words, Tarrant felt as miserable as ever. He both wanted Avon and was afraid of hurting him. And hovering behind everything was that dark current of twisted, half-forgotten reality.

"I still don't think we should, uh, do anything," he said, at a loss for words to explain his confusion.

"Stop thinking, Tarrant, it is not your forte. We must get through this together, or she will have won. I promise that I will not hurt you."

And with that Avon kissed him on the lips-- hesitantly, for all his confident words. Then he sat back, looking down at Tarrant with a bemused expression.

"I never did that before," he said. Tarrant assumed that Avon must mean that he had never kissed a man. Tarrant had, after all, watched him kiss a woman, or at least a female creature, and he had certainly appeared to know exactly what he was doing on that occasion.

"Practice makes perfect," said Tarrant. It was a foolish remark, but he could think of nothing better to say on the spur of the moment. Though he regretted the words immediately, Avon didn't seem to mind. He kissed Tarrant again, this time fully and deeply. Tarrant found himself melting into the kiss, his fears and doubts falling away behind him. He put his arms around Avon's neck and kissed him back.

Avon was very good at this, more skillful than anyone Tarrant had ever kissed before. And Tarrant had never been kissed so possessively, had never found himself the focus of such an intensity of controlled aggression-- not with his schoolmates or his girlfriends, not with Dayna, not even with Servalan. Nor had he ever been so intimate with someone who was, if only temporarily, physically stronger than himself. Making love to Avon carried a special aura of danger that made it all the more exciting.

Avon's hands were roaming over him, caressing his body through the thin cloth of his pajamas. When he touched the evidence of Tarrant's arousal, it was all that the pilot could do to keep from coming on the spot. He whimpered into Avon's mouth. Avon took his hand away from the dangerous area and used it instead to unbutton the top of Tarrant's pajamas, slipping his hand inside to stroke the bare skin of Tarrant's chest. Then he broke off the kiss and gathered Tarrant into his arms, holding him up just far enough to pull off the shirt. Tarrant let himself be manipulated, cooperating as best he could. He felt as if he were dreaming, but this was very different from any of the dreams he had lately experienced. Then he was laid back on the bed and, at Avon's urging, raised his hips so that Avon could slip off the pajama bottoms as well. Naked, with Avon still fully clothed, he felt dreadfully exposed; but that feeling went the way of all his other fears as Avon hovered over him, covering his body with little kisses and caresses. Tarrant writhed under the delicate touches, luxuriating in the abundance of small pleasures. Then Avon stretched out full length alongside him, his face beside Tarrant's. Tarrant expected another kiss, but instead Avon held his gaze as he licked the palm of his right hand, investing the simple action with erotic significance. He reached down and closed his hand around Tarrant's throbbing shaft, stroking and pumping it as if it were his own.

"Don't hold back," he said in Tarrant's ear. "Now."

Tarrant needed no further urging. Avon had barely uttered the last word when he was climaxing, jerking in Avon's arms as he shot his come onto Avon's hand, his own body, and the sheets.

When it was over, Avon made no immediate move to clean up, but lay holding him.

"That was easier than I expected," he said presently. "You are a handsome young man, Tarrant, as well as a passionate one."

Tarrant, who had been somewhat embarrassed by the speed and intensity of his own response, was made bolder by the compliment. "Avon, please take your clothes off. I want you to have pleasure too."

"Help me," said Avon huskily. He held himself over Tarrant, supporting his weight with his arms on each side of Tarrant's head, so that the younger man could easily reach up to undo his belt buckle, the buttons of his shirt, then the fastener of his trousers. Tarrant caressed the bits of skin that he could reach. He was thrilled to find that Avon was as erect now as he himself had been a little while ago. He stroked the hot flesh through the silky fabric of Avon's underwear.

"Please," he repeated, too excited now himself to be more articulate than that. But Avon understood him. Sitting up at the end of the bed, he quickly stripped off the loosened clothing. When he lay down again beside the pilot, his skin was as bare as Tarrant's, save for the extra measure of hair on his chest and belly.

"It's cold," he said, drawing Tarrant close for another deep kiss. And indeed, Avon was shivering now; but Tarrant felt sure it was more than a physical chill. He realized suddenly that when Avon had spoken earlier of Tarrant's fears, he must have been thinking of his own as well. What courage it must have taken for him to approach the man who had used him so cruelly. Tarrant's lingering feelings of shame were overcome by gratitude and affection. He wanted badly to help Avon, to bring some warmth into that chilly existence.

Tarrant sent his fingers on a soothing exploration of Avon's face. He ran them over the closed eyes and along the bridge of the nose. Avon's trembling eased away on a contented sigh.

"Move up," Tarrant urged, wanting access to more of Avon's body. Avon complied, so that his chest was level with Tarrant's head.

Surrounded by clusters of dark, curly hair, the tech's nipples were taut. Tarrant leaned in and tasted one, fondling it with his tongue as he would a woman's. Avon hissed, his body arching slightly. Excited by the other man's response, Tarrant swung his arm around Avon, intending to pull him closer. However, his purpose fled, forgotten in a surge of renewed guilt, when his fingers encountered faint imperfections in the smoothness of Avon's back.

The whip scars were so slight that Tarrant hadn't noticed them when Avon had undressed, not with the lighting dimmed to night levels. He resisted the urge to trace the contours, not wanting to remind Avon of their presence. But he couldn't suppress the remorse that battered his conscience, swarming over the more fragile emotions awakened by the seduction.

Perhaps annoyed by Tarrant's unexpected lapse, Avon slithered back down until they were facing each other again. He kissed Tarrant with a deep impatience, banishing the bad moment as quickly as it had materialized. Tarrant clutched Avon to him, desperate to repay the other man's kindness and trust.

"Avon," Tarrant said, breathless with pleasure from the kiss. "Fuck me. Please. It's what I want."

"Are you sure?" said Avon, pulling back a little. His eyes shied away from Tarrant's and his mouth twisted slightly, as if in remembered pain.

"It will be all right," Tarrant urged. "I've done it before."

<<Never mind that that was a long time ago, and the other party was a schoolboy and not a full grown man. We'll manage somehow,>> thought Tarrant.

"You said you wouldn't hurt me," he reminded Avon.

"Very well, Tarrant. You're the expert. How do we do it without hurting anyone, especially when one party is an invalid?"

It was true that the most usual positions would be uncomfortable for him, Tarrant realized.

"Maybe if I lie on my side?" he suggested. "Curled up a bit, with you behind me? That might work. There's oil in the table drawer," he added. "Dayna was giving me a backrub..."

"Was she now?" said Avon absently. He kept one hand on Tarrant as he reached for the drawer and extracted the little bottle, setting it down again within easy reach. Then he was carefully maneuvering Tarrant into the position that he had suggested. Tarrant could have done it himself, but it was enjoyable to relax and be touched and moved by Avon. Soon he felt the heat of Avon's body pressed against his own. It was strange, but very pleasing, that someone who he knew rationally was smaller than he was should nevertheless be able to enfold him so completely.

Avon caressed him unceasingly, moving his hands over Tarrant's body as if he were committing it to memory. He kissed Tarrant's neck and gnawed very delicately at his shoulder. The faint suggestion of a bite, the possibility of a sharp nip from those strong teeth, was wonderfully exciting. Tarrant felt Avon pull slightly away from him; then, a moment later, both of Avon's hands, now covered with oil, were kneading his buttocks. Tarrant raised his upper leg slightly, trying to give Avon still more access to his body. He was rewarded by the exciting pressure of a finger against his anus, while Avon's other hand snaked around him to stroke his cock. The sensations brought back distant but welcome memories. Yes, what he had done in his school days had been fun. It would be even more fun now, with an ingenious and affectionate adult as his partner. Tarrant felt himself starting to become aroused again. He wriggled in Avon's arms and pressed back against Avon's hand. The finger slipped easily into his ass and began stroking him slowly in a most thrilling way. Tarrant found that he was already eager for more.

"Now, Avon," he said. "Do it now. Go ahead. I'm ready." He squirmed in what he hoped was an enticing manner.

"Impetuous as always," said a voice in his ear. His neck was kissed again, and he felt the firm pressure at the entrance to his body. Tarrant sighed aloud with pleasure and relief as Avon's well-oiled cock pushed smoothly into him.

"Oh," said Avon, sounding surprised. "Oh, Tarrant, it feels so good."

"I'm the best," said Tarrant smugly. For that bit of impertinence he really was nipped, a small love-bite in the shoulder. He did not even perceive it as pain; the unusual sensation only served to help fuel his ever-mounting excitement. Avon was not in him very deeply, but his steady strokes were at precisely the angle and the rhythm that Tarrant wanted. How did Avon know? It seemed miraculous.

Avon's hand was still holding Tarrant's cock. Tarrant wrapped his own hand around Avon's to guide his movements. They came together, both crying out without words.

Afterwards they lay quietly for a time. Eventually Avon made a trip to the bathroom and returned with a moist towel to clean Tarrant, and enough dry towels to cover up the numerous damp spots on the sheets. They arranged themselves comfortably. Avon stroked Tarrant's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said, touching the rapidly disappearing traces of the bite. "I didn't intend to hurt you."

"It didn't hurt," said Tarrant truthfully. On impulse he drew Avon to him and kissed him. Then he settled back into the bed as a pleasant lethargy crept over him.

He supposed that he must have dozed off briefly. He didn't recall actually sleeping, but gradually he roused from his happily satiated stupor and became aware that Avon was fondling him once again. His body was responding more quickly than his mind.

"There's one more thing we have to do," said Avon.

"Simultaneous orgasm isn't enough for you?" said Tarrant, still feeling drowsy. He wasn't sure what Avon's intentions were; but at least, he thought with some satisfaction, there was no doubt that he would be able to perform as demanded. Then he woke up enough to see clearly what Avon was doing. He was kneeling over Tarrant, straddling the younger man's thighs as he applied the oil to Tarrant's upright cock. It dawned on Tarrant what Avon must have in mind.

"I don't think this is a good idea," he said. He pulled himself up on his elbows and tried to wriggle his hips out from under Avon, without success.

"Stop thinking, stop talking, and stop squirming," said Avon. "Lie still. It will be all right." He pushed Tarrant back against the bed, gently but firmly. Tarrant obediently stopped squirming, but he couldn't help thinking and talking.

"Avon, no. I don't want to. It's a bad memory."

"That," said Avon, continuing his ministrations without pause, "is precisely the point: to replace our mutual bad memories with better ones. Orac assures me that this activity is not harmful if it is properly performed, and that many people find it highly enjoyable."

The thought of Avon discussing sex with Orac was so ludicrous that Tarrant had to smile. Avon smiled back at him, and slowly and carefully came down on him.

The sensation was exquisite. This was the core of pure physical pleasure at the heart of the dreams: the joy of being inside Avon. Tarrant felt an almost uncontrollable urge to thrust up, but he resisted it, forcing himself to lie as still as possible so that Avon could have full control of their joining. He watched as Avon's expression changed, from a look of intense concentration as he maneuvered their bodies into a conjunction that produced excitement for both, to a gradual relaxation as he moved cautiously up and down, using Tarrant's tool to stroke himself internally. Avon's eyes were half closed, and his features were beginning to soften in the way that Tarrant had often imagined but never seen.

And Tarrant panicked. Suddenly he was certain that he had been in this situation before: flat on his back, his manhood swallowed up entirely, being used as the helpless instrument of someone else's amusement. A phantom pain coursed through his rectum, and the muscles of his entire body tensed as if in reaction to an imagined spasm. There was no question now of his hurting his partner-- far from it. In his mind's eye, Avon's face was replaced by Servalan's. She was smiling triumphantly, and he knew that he would experience extreme agony and utter humiliation before it was over.

Somehow his distress was communicated to Avon, who opened his eyes and looked steadily at Tarrant.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," he said calmly, projecting the reassurance that they both needed. He took Tarrant's hand in his and wrapped it around his own cock, giving a sigh of pure enjoyment as Tarrant caught the idea and began to stroke him.

"Imagine that you are doing this for yourself," Avon suggested. "The only difference is that I happen to be in the middle."

It worked. In those moments of terror, Tarrant had never lost his erection, though he had certainly lost all pleasure in it. Now the pleasure returned, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. Tarrant closed his eyes and slid into such a state of sexual intoxication that he became genuinely confused as to what was happening. He was thrusting now without reserve, pumping with his hand in the same rhythm.

Afterwards he was never sure who had come first. His cock was gripped delightfully, while semen spilled over his hand and belly. He had experienced these sensations many times before. But this time there was a difference: he was not alone. In the throes of his own orgasm, he stole a glance at Avon. The face above him was more beautiful than he had ever imagined it, even in the most loving of his dreams. Tarrant felt quite safe now, cherished, protected, and ecstatically happy.

When it was over, Avon slipped off of him and stretched out beside him once more. He nestled his head against Tarrant's shoulder as if it belonged there and draped an arm possessively across Tarrant's heaving chest.

"We seem to have managed rather well," he murmured into Tarrant's ear.

"Does that mean we won't have to do it again?" Tarrant asked, uncertain what answer he wanted or expected. For the moment he was drained of emotion. It was a wonderful relief after what he had been through. Idly he stroked Avon's hair.

"I never said anything of the kind," was Avon's cryptic reply. "Go to sleep, Tarrant. We needn't be up for some hours yet."

Wrapped in each other's arms, they followed his advice.

<end>

 


End file.
